


Thicker Than Water

by JeromeSankara



Series: TWD: Rickyl edition [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Established Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Interrogation, Kidnapping, M/M, Married Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Mpreg, Post Mpreg, Prison, Protective Daryl Dixon, Protective Rick, Rickyl Writers' Group, Season 3 Walking Dead, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 17:31:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16309568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeromeSankara/pseuds/JeromeSankara
Summary: The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.After the birth of their daughter, Rick and Daryl try to make life as normal as they can in the zombie apocalypse. Then comes someone who calls themselves the Governor, and all life goes back to hell.A direct sequel from "My Everything."





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HogwartsToAlexandria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HogwartsToAlexandria/gifts).



“We’re going to need more gauze at this rate.”

Rick sighed long and slow, dropping his head and trying to hide his embarrassment. It wasn’t his fault that the bandages kept getting loose. Maybe if he had another hand to keep the bandages tight… Well, then he wouldn't be needing the bandages after all.

Lifting up his left arm, Hershel untucked the loose and dirtied bandages from the end, and Rick couldn't help but look away. Even almost a week later, it was hard to believe that the ugly stump was his, and that his hand had been consumed by a walker. There had been a hell of a meal left behind when he and Daryl had been rescued.

While Hershel examined the stump, and trying to ignore the near constant stings and spikes of pain, Rick strained to look down the hall. How much longer was he going to be stuck in this damn prison? Sure, he was now missing a hand, but it wasn’t his shooting one. He could still use his machete, too. It just so happened to be the same one Daryl used to hack off his arm, but now there were memories.

“It's healing up better than I thought, but you're gonna need to keep it covered up. You're still open to infection.” Hershel began the slow process of rubbing on whatever antibiotics they still had, and Rick let out a low hiss of pain.

“Everything okay?”

Blinking back his tears, Rick glanced back up and forced a small smile. “It's fine, sport.” Reaching out his other hand, or now his only hand, Rick carefully ruffled Carl's lengthening hair. “Still doing fine, everything is healing up just fine.”

Carl looked unconvinced, glancing between Rick's teary eyes and Hershel, whose entire focus was directed to the new dressings. “Mom wants to talk to you when you're done.”

_ Shit. _

“Tell him I'll be there. Hershel is going to need to check on him too.” The bandages tightened suddenly on his arm, and Rick had to bite back a curse. Maybe he should have waited to say that until Hershel was done tending to his still-sensitive stump.

His gaze lingering on Rick and Hershel a few moments longer, Carl shrugged and stepped out of what was usually the lunchroom. It was slowly becoming a meeting place, where people would linger and pass the time.

Maggie had found some board games and a chessboard. Her and Carol had started a bit of a competition before the walker incident. That chessboard had gone untouched since, and they started to believe that it would be forever.

Rick dropped his head, trying to shake the scorned memory of when Maggie told Daryl that they thought Carol was gone. He'd gone silent, his face blank, and just stared through Maggie. After several minutes of silence, Maggie crept out of his cell, closed it behind her, and Daryl did not leave that entire night.

He'd curled up in bed and ignored the aspects of food or even painkillers. Thankfully, Carol had been found the next morning. It was still frightening, seeing Daryl shut down like that and blaming himself. All he would take for comfort was… her.

Hershel eventually lowered his arm again and tucked it back into the sling he had advised to use. It was to keep him from accidentally trying to use the hand that was no longer there, thus ramming the stump into whatever he pleased. It still happened, but less often. He would learn with time.

“Go on ahead, I need a moment to get my supplies,” Hershel said, waving Rick off even though they both knew that the supplies were waiting in Daryl's cell. This was just to help get Daryl warmed up to the idea of the examinations he still needed. And… other things.

Stepping into the main block, Rick took in a soft breath of fresh air. The windows were cracked open, streaming in sunlight. It was an attempt to lighten the mood, and by the sight of the silent cells, it wasn't successful.

They lost T-Dog, dying to protect Carol. Lori had gotten bit, and Maggie put her down. Carl saw the whole thing. Lori was like a second mother to him, and while Rick had expected Carl to be mourning, he just… wasn't. Just the same, like nothing had happened at all. Like he had already accepted that lives could end in an instant. 

Carl could have lost everyone he loved had the hand of fate not been in their favor.

Passing by the quiet cells, Rick came to the one at the far end. Blankets had been pulled over the bars, an attempt at privacy. This  _ was  _ supposed to be where Daryl should have been that day, in comfort and with Hershel at his side, and not fighting walkers in agony.

But they were lucky, and Rick tried to ignore how it could have all gone wrong.

Though as Rick reached for the handle, the door slid open suddenly, Carl darting out and quickly closing it behind him. “Mom's in a mood,” Carl whispered, his face still pale.

“I fucking  _ heard  _ that!”

Rick stifled back a groan and nudged Carl away from the door. “Can I come in?”

“Fuck you!”

Carl winced beside him, and Rick couldn't help but glance down to him with sympathy. “Why don't you go get yourself a snack?” Rick bargained, still keeping his voice down. “I think there's still some chocolate in this week's rations.”

Rick wasn't above bargaining at this point, not as Carl's eyes lit up and he rushed down the hall. Even in the world they were in, he was still a kid. Rick had to remember that.

He grabbed a hold of the handle one more time, and cracked it open just enough to peer inside.

A rag was immediately thrown at his face, and lucky for him, it was a clean one. This time. “Go away!” Daryl snarled on the other side, and Rick winced as he saw those terrifying blues. Sucking in a deep breath, Rick opened the door farther to squeeze inside.

He closed it behind him and pressed his back to the bars. “It's just me,” he tried to soothe, holding out his hand as if to show he was unarmed. “I just want to check to see how you're doing.”

If there was one word Rick could use to summarize Daryl right now, it would be pregnant. Because that was exactly how Daryl looked and felt. The baby blues had already come on strong, something Rick was unfortunately familiar with.

Daryl not only had a hard pregnancy and delivery with Carl, but his postpartum depression had been awful. He had refused to feed Carl or even see him. Even when the nurses told Rick that he didn't truly mean it, that it was just the depression, it still left haunting memories of Daryl's apparent abandonment of his son. Rick had to step in more than he had expected for basics like feedings and changing, and just holding their son, sometimes in separate rooms because even the sight of Carl would set Daryl off.

Hormones had been unbalanced, the birth had been stressful, and it all came together in the worst of ways. The fact that Carl had been allowed to be released before Daryl was attested to that fact, and it wasn't until three weeks passed that Daryl started to come back to himself. Thankfully, this time wasn't nearly as bad.

Mostly because Daryl refused to part with Ellie.

Her crib was empty where it sat right against Daryl's bed, as she was tucked securely into Daryl's arms. Daryl rarely set her down except to change her diaper, or to let Hershel do physical examinations on both him and Ellie. He had practically exiled Rick from tending to her if Daryl was physically able to do it himself. It was like a lioness protecting her single cub, teeth constantly bared and growling.

Rick tried to look over Daryl without it being increasingly obvious. He still held most of that weight, but Hershel assured him that most was either inside the uterus or water weight. Since Daryl had still been fit during the pregnancy, constantly hunting and on the move, they may get lucky and the pounds will slide off.

“How are you feeling?” Rick asked, keeping his voice low even when Daryl had already shouted loudly with Ellie still in his arms. She was unexpectedly small, but babies born by men normally were. It was because their hips were not quite as well designed to carry as women were.

Daryl scowled back at him, curled up awkwardly on the bed with his back to the wall. “What do you fucking think?” he snapped without mercy, curling his arms around their daughter. She was tucked in small blankets, and seemed to be asleep. Somehow. Maybe she had grown used to his near constant swearing and it acted more of a lullaby.

“Did you need a fresh one?” Rick asked, carefully avoiding the word that would set Daryl off; diaper. His bleeding still hadn't finished, and wouldn't for a while, further adding to Daryl's misery. At least they found a few bottles of witch hazel, which had done wonders for Daryl's pain ‘down there.’

Daryl flushed and squirmed on the bed. “I got one,” he muttered, his voice dropping lower. He jerked his chin to the small wastebasket that already held a fair amount of baby diapers. Soon enough, they would need to switch to rags, but their raids had been surprisingly fruitful with baby supplies.

Taking small steps, Rick slowly sat down on the other end of the bed. Daryl just continued his glare, but by his appearance, it was more to his own misery than to Rick. Even now, with Daryl glaring him down, Rick still couldn't stifle down the swell of pride.

They never thought they'd have another child. Not after Carl. Even when they decided to try once Carl was out of his toddling years, it just never happened. Years and years of trying that amounted to nothing. Daryl just had been tired of the up and down, the hope that crashed each and every time…

“I still can't believe it,” Rick breathed, staring at the little bundle that was curled so closely to Daryl's chest. He could see Ellie's small hands fisting into his shirt, clenching now and then. Even being just a few days old, she was just… captivating.

She had dark hair, just a little fluff. Rick slid down the bed inch by inch, watching her little chest rise and fall with breath. She was wearing the little onesie that Daryl had found not long after leaving the farm. Pale blue, because he ‘don't give a shit’ if it’s a girl or boy. That was the first time Daryl found something just for their baby, tucking it into his bag when he thought no one was watching.

“Hey, sweetie, are you being good for Mama?” Rick smiled, edging himself closer. At least Daryl wasn't snapping at him again. It seemed that his punishment for putting Daryl through the stresses of not only labor but cutting off Rick's arm was to withhold Ellie. Sure, Hershel could hold her. Carl could. Hell, even Maggie got to hold her! But the moment that Rick passed her into Daryl's arms minutes after birth, he hadn't held her since.

It was almost torture, but he also understood why.

They had… worried that Rick had still been infected. A fever he couldn't shake, coupled with weakness and being in and out of consciousness ever since he passed out in the boiler room. They had even handcuffed him to the bed just like Hershel. The worst had to be that neither Daryl or Carl were allowed to stay with him, in fears of seeing Rick turn.

Then a day passed, and the fever broke. Rick came to, and the infection had been cleaned out. Daryl was still wary, though, and seemed to think that at any moment, Rick could turn and sink his teeth into their baby. He could see it now, in the way that Daryl's biceps were starting to twitch, stiffening up and ready to pull back.

“She's always hungry,” Daryl grunted, running his thumb between her shoulder blades. “And she's gonna get loud.”

“I don't hear anyone complaining yet,” Rick said, his smile growing. “It'll be nice having some noise. It gets too quiet. We aren't use to it yet.” All the while, Rick inched his way closer, his heart pounding with every bit of ground gained. If he wanted to, he could reach right out…

Daryl huffed, and his biceps stopped twitching. God, even now, Rick always got distracted with those biceps. And the  _ shoulders. _ It sent warm shivers through his body to know that those were  _ his.  _

“When’re we goin’ and finding shit?” Daryl asked, his eyes focused down on their sleeping daughter. “Gonna need formula. I ain't lasting long.”

Rick frowned, and felt his stomach twist. They needed formula, and it was hard to scavenge for. It almost always had to come from grocery or department stores. Plus, they had to fight against rapid expiration. While they could use some in a pinch, neither of them wanted to use it unless it was a last resort.

“You don't need to worry about that. Not right now. We still have the tin we came with,” Rick soothed as best as he could, and started to close the distance between them. Daryl didn't move, and his shoulders relaxed. Losing his guard. Finally.

Daryl flicked his deep blue eyes up to Rick for only a moment, before shaking his head. “You ain't holding her until you get that arm outta the sling.” And as soon as Rick started to fumble with unfastening it, a smirk played on his lips. “When  _ Hershel _ says you can.”

Scowling lightly, Rick just held out his other arm. “Guess I'll settle for the next best thing.”

A soft huff left Daryl's smiling lips, ducking his head to try to hide his reddening cheeks. “You tryin’ ta get all romantic on me, officer?” Daryl teased, but inched his way closer. Rick scooted back on the bed, letting his back touch the wall and grinned in return.

“I don't see you complaining.”

“That's the shit that got us in this mess in the first place.”

“Still not complaining.”

“Fuck off.”

In slow, less than graceful movements, Daryl let himself lean back against Rick's chest, trying his best to avoid laying on his wounded arm. In turn, Rick's arm circled Daryl's waist and pulled him closer. There were a few grunts and swears, since Daryl was still rightfully aching, but they managed to find a somewhat comfortable position.

Pressing his lips to Daryl's temple, he murmured into his ear. “Tell you what. I know a place that might still have some baby things. We can check it out once Hershel gives the go-ahead.  _ And  _ we can bring the kids.” The fact that he could now use the plural word sent another warm shiver through his body.

“What, you got some secrets?” Daryl muttered, closing his eyes for some attempt at sleep.

“You'll see.”

With one more kiss, Rick ran his hand across Daryl's arm, before finally reaching their daughter. Her soft brown hair, her small, warm body… She was theirs. And she was perfect.

* * *

To say that Daryl was 100% back to himself was… a straight out lie. Rick could see it in his walk, how he sat, just about every movement he made. They were sluggish and pricked with aches and pain. But there were days where he was better, and Rick noticed that they were the ones where Daryl would step outside.

They spent a few hours in the watchtower together, Ellie still in Daryl's arms, and watched day turn into night. It was a literal breath of fresh air, and everyone could tell that Daryl was itching to go back outside. He was certainly not someone you wanted to remain cooped up.

And so Rick had a plan, a map, a handful of batteries, and a car.

...He also had a diaper bag so filled with baby things that it almost tipped him over when he tried picking it up.

“Is this all necessary?” Rick grunted under the weight of the bag, following Daryl out to the car. Daryl just shrugged and kept walking.

“I ain't getting caught with my pants down,” Daryl called back, a familiar warmth in his voice.

Stifling back an inappropriate response or two, since Carl was only feet away, Rick just bit his lip and put the bag in the back. Carl was a little more wary when he climbed into the back seat, looking between his parents like they were about to drive them into the ocean.

“Is this really a good idea?” Carl asked as he hesitantly shut the car door.

Rick just smiled and got into the driver's seat. “You'll see. It ain't too far. And it should still be good to scavenge.”

Daryl shared an equally unsure expression, standing outside the car for just a bit longer, then relenting and climbing inside. Ellie was still held in his arms, because when was she not, watching the world around her with large, deep blue eyes.

At almost three weeks old, she had been doing a hell of a lot of crying, pooping, and puking. And that was fine. But she was also growing and eating more and more by the day. While Daryl was trying to drink and eat more to keep up, there was only so much a male body could produce before it just simply runs out.

And while Rick knew there would be supplies at the location he planned to go to, he knew for a fact that there would not be any formula. Maybe in a few days, he and Daryl could take a small trip to find some if they spot a good opportunity. Not today, though. They would be too busy.

Rick already told Hershel and Glenn that they would be gone for a full day, to come back by afternoon tomorrow. That was another little secret that he didn't tell his family. They would see why soon enough.

Even with the car being silent starting out, Rick could feel their curiosity. Daryl kept asking to take a look at the map, and Rick would say it would ruin the surprise. He had this route memorized overnight, to try to throw off the scent. But what gave it away was passing by that old sign;

_ Now Entering King County _

“Dad?” Carl suddenly perked up, his eyes wide as he gazed at the sign pass by. “Dad, are we-”

“You'll see.”

Daryl was just staring at the buildings they passed by, falling into complete silence. Rick couldn't see his face; he was too glued to the window.

Halfway through town, Rick gave up on trying to hush Carl's questions, instead letting him practically bounce around in the back seat. He started to spew out his excitement with what he hoped they would find, how he wanted to come back for so long but they never had the chance, and that he didn't have a chance to get this or that.

Daryl was still silent, like he had turned to stone. His hand was firmly placed on Ellie's back, but his eyes were still out the window. It left a pit in his stomach, but Rick shook it off. It was probably nervousness. Had to be.

As Rick turned down that familiar corner, he could see it only a block away. The road still had parked cars and the occasional body, because their world was still destroyed, but it was becoming a new normal. It was why Rick needed the reminder of what their old normal was like.

He parked in the familiar spot, but kept the doors locked. “Stay in the car,” he said, and neither occupant spoke against it. It could still be dangerous. While there had been very little walker activity, Rick wasn't about to take chances.

Unlocking his own door, Rick grabbed at the machete at his side and firmed his hold. He sucked in one deep breath and finally stepped out.

The first sight of their house left his entire body to almost melt, and for a moment, it felt like home. But then as Rick walked closer, he could see the broken-out windows. It was probably looted, but he expected that. It would be stupid not to. He crept carefully up the walkway, clenching his hand on the handle. Be thorough.

He nudged the potted plant to the side with his foot, pleased to see that the spare key was still there. He unlocked the door and pushed it open just an inch, and listened.

Silence.

Painfully aware of the sound of his blood pulsing through his ears, he pushed it open and got a good look inside.

There were clear tracks across the floor of heavy boots. All over the carpet and the wood. Maybe this wasn't as best of an idea as Rick first thought, not as he saw the picture frames that had fallen and laid broken on the floor.

Their cabinets were all open and emptied. In the living room, someone had tried to yank off the TV from the wall for whatever reason, and just left it as a broken mess on the floor. The thought of their dearest possessions being senselessly taken brought his heart into his throat.

He scoured the bottom floor as quick as he could, and tried not to look too hard at their broken pieces of a home. There were still pieces to be collected up. He had to keep telling himself that. The second floor was next, and while he noticed that the beds had been stripped of blankets, a quick look in the closet gave Rick the second rush of relief. Clothes were still there, and so were the boxes. Checking on Carl's room led to broken boards, like someone had sealed themselves up inside, then pried them back down.

Looking closer in the dark room, he saw the window broken out that looked over the front of the house. Countless bullet casings littered the wood floor, but were now covered in dust. It left a sick feeling in his gut, but whoever had taken his son's room was long gone. In silence, Rick swept the casings into the closet with his foot, and did the same with the boards. Carl didn't need to see this.

Rick came out of the house with his head held high and smiling, secretly relieved that neither Daryl or Carl had gotten out of the car. There was no sign of walkers yet, so perhaps this place was simply abandoned entirely.

He tried to wave them over, only to see his own stupidity with his lack of a hand to do so. Instead, he walked back to the car and popped open the driver's side, and unlocked the doors.

“It's safe,” he said, his smile widening as Carl immediately leaped out of the car and bolted for the house. Daryl, though, sat still. His eyes were on the house, but Rick couldn't read his expression. It was enough to tell him that something was wrong.

Glancing back to Carl, Rick waited until he was safely inside and shut the door before he climbed into the driver's seat again. Closing the car door, Rick let them sit in silence. Give Daryl time to think, to gather his thoughts. To understand his feelings.

“I-I don't want to go back."

Daryl's voice was soft, almost nonexistent. Rick raised an eyebrow, but held back the obvious question of “why.” Daryl will explain when he was ready.

Rick watched Daryl's hand shiver, then clench around their sleeping daughter. “I didn't want to come back to this town. It's not…” Swallowing, Daryl continued to stare out the window to the house. “That's not our home, Rick. This…”

Reaching over slowly, Rick pulled his arm around Daryl's shoulders. The hunter didn't flinch under his touch, but he could still feel his stiffness. “You didn't tell me about when you left. Is this why?”

Daryl shook his head, but Rick knew it was to try to hide his pain-stricken expression. He shifted both arms to surround their daughter, shielding her. “I didn't want to go. But Shane told me you were dead. A-and I already knew ‘bout… I just didn't have time to check for sure, but I knew.”

Keeping his silence, Rick did his best to shift as close as he could, pulling Daryl against his side. “I'm here,” he murmured, pressing his lips to Daryl's temple.

“I knew that if you weren't dead, you'd come back home. And I waited. I had Shane and Lori take Carl the first fucking day, but I fucking  _ waited.” _

There was an audible crack in Daryl's voice that made Daryl flinch, like he had given away his weakness again. He audibly swallowed down his pain, but Rick just squeezed him. When Daryl fell into silence again, Rick finally took his turn to speak.

“I knew you both were safe when I found the house. You were smart and took your bow. Got the guns out of the locker. And you left the Colt for me.”

“The world went to shit so fucking fast. I had to use ‘em.” Daryl's breath shuddered in his chest, and he wouldn't look Rick in the eye. “I-I just… stayed in Carl's room with the rifle. And I shot whoever came to the door. I stayed there for  _ weeks, _ using my kid's room as some fucking sniper tower, and I killed people. Didn't matter if they ain't already dead.”

Daryl's voice kept dropping lower and lower, and Rick was certain this was the first time Daryl said this aloud. Killing to protect their home, waiting for his husband to come back. Constantly thinking that next person that would come to the door could be the one that would kill him for his food, ammo and weapons. And knowing the whole time that he wasn't just protecting himself anymore.

Pulling Daryl against his chest as much as he dared, Rick pressed his lips to his temple. He didn't need to ask how many people. It would always be too many. Dead or alive or somewhere in between, it was just too many. Daryl had blood on his hands long before Rick woke up, and knowing he couldn't be there to protect them only drove a dagger into his heart.

“We can leave. But I know there's something inside that I think will help.”

Daryl lowered his head again and muttered something Rick couldn't catch, and stayed seated for another couple of minutes. Rick had been about ready to simply admit defeat and retrieve Carl had it not been for Daryl reaching for the handle and slowly popping the door open.

Not bothering to hide his relief, Rick gave Daryl another soft kiss and climbed out of his side. He retrieved the bag out of the back and glanced to see Daryl waiting for him. His eyes were still on the house, at the broken out window to Carl's room.

Shifting the diaper bag over his left shoulder, he tentatively reached out his hand for Daryl's. It was enough to catch his attention from the house, then he looked up at Rick with the faintest resemblance of a smirk. Tucking Ellie into the crook of his arm, Daryl finally took hold of Rick's hand and let him lead them inside.

* * *

If there was one thing Rick didn't miss from Carl's infant days, it was the crying. It just so happened that the apocalypse made that turn from annoying to be feared. It was different from inside of the prison, to where the noise they made were all safely contained within concrete walls inside secure fences.

That unfortunately was absent in a house with broken out windows and little places to find silence.

Rick paced in the front lawn, his machete held tight in his white knuckled grasp that already was stained with blood. Three walkers had already been alerted by the noise, and only made Rick regret once more the idea of bringing them all here in the first place.

But if anything good came out of the sudden drawing of walkers, it was the experience. Not just for Rick, but for Carl.

He flicked his gaze up to the top floor window, where he saw the silencer peeking out from the broken frame. They didn't bring more than a couple dozen bullets, but Carl was getting a better grasp on his aim. He managed to hit one walker in the neck, only to be finished off by a quick machete strike.

The idea of training his son to shoot had always been in the back of Rick's mind for years, how to properly handle a gun. The small lessons Rick gave before the apocalypse were finally coming in handy. Even Daryl had been helping, though he leaned towards teaching Carl how to hunt with a crossbow. That tiny kid-sized crossbow was still tucked in the house somewhere.

The door creaked open behind Rick, making him jolt until he met the calm blue gaze of his husband. “We're clear,” Daryl muttered, his crossbow still in his hand. He had been surveying the backyard while Rick and Carl took the front.

Lowering the blade, Rick looked back up to Carl and motioned for him to duck back inside. The silencer muzzle disappeared. “Hungry?” Rick guessed, forcing a light smile to ease the tension.

Daryl shrugged, strapping his crossbow over his shoulder again. “Yeah. We're almost out. Need to start looking again.”

Rick crossed the distance between them, giving Daryl a pat on the shoulder as he passed. While Rick liked to consider himself the romantic one, he also understood that Daryl had his limits. When Daryl had his mind set to something, the romantic gestures could wait.

Hearing Daryl follow him inside, Rick felt whatever stiffness in his body melt at the small bundle in the living room. They found a couple of old blankets in the basement, and while it wasn't necessarily cold, it made for a soft bed for Ellie. “Feel better, little pumpkin?” Rick murmured, setting the machete on the counter. He could hear Carl bounding down the stairs, as he had thousands of times before.

“Mom, did you see? I got one!”

“Good job,” Daryl rumbled, crossing the room to meet his son at the bottom of the stairs. “You're getting better.”

Rick couldn't help but smile at Carl's chest puffing out with pride, or how Daryl took off his sheriff hat to give his hair a quick ruffle. It wouldn't be hard to say that Carl felt a little abandoned at the sudden arrival of his sister, especially with all the chaos that surrounded it. Another reason why Rick knew they needed some sort of a family outing, if just to soothe the disturbance.

While Rick wanted nothing more to finally take the chance to spend time with their daughter, he knew he needed to get to the reason why they were here. After giving a quick kiss on the forehead to Ellie, who gurgled a little in response, he started walking up the stairs. When Daryl and Carl moved to follow, he smirked and said, “Stay down here. Relax. I got a surprise.”

The confusion that met him almost made Rick laugh, since Daryl never liked surprises and was glaring him down at the prospect. “Last time you said I'd get a damn surprise, I got knocked up,” he muttered under his breath, mutinously stalking back to the couch and Ellie.

“It's not that kind of surprise.”

“Like hell it ain't, you said that last time, too.”

Trying to ignore the responses that were dangling on his lips, Rick shook his head and walked back up the stairs. In a matter of minutes, with a wide grin on his face, Rick walked back down the stairs and held out a large box.

He was met with wide eyes from Carl, and another glare from Daryl. “You gotta be fuckin’ me.”

“You found them!”

Carl darted forward, grabbing the box to pull it down more to gaze inside. Rick's grin widened more when Carl dug out a cube, then flipped it open to reveal the screen inside. “Mom took this away because I got a bad grade!” Carl cheered as he immediately flipped on the power switch, then gasped. “It still works!”

“Thought it might help pass the time now that we have electricity,” Rick chuckled, letting Carl dig through the box for his games. After finding a brightly colored red one, he darted to the couch, officially lost to his own world for however long the battery held.

Sheepishly looking up to Daryl, who  _ still  _ was doing his noble best to cut him where he stood only with his eyes, he shrugged. “He's still a kid. World won't end if he gets to enjoy himself now and then.”

Growling under his breath, Daryl curtly turned around and stalked back to the couch, seeing that Carl had already stretched himself out, deep in his game. “One cushion,” Daryl ordered, and after a whine, Carl curled up to one end. It was the three cushion rule for a reason.

Following behind with the box still in hand, he carefully set it onto the coffee table, just out of reach from Daryl. “That's not all I found.”

“I fucking know what you found.”

Still smiling, Rick dug deeper into the box and took out the portable DVD player. Daryl groaned loudly, falling back against the couch. “That's your big surprise?” Daryl complained, glaring at Rick's every movement as he pulled out the booklet filled with DVDs.

Stretching across Rick's lap, Daryl grabbed at the player and flicked the power switch. The screen was black. “It's dead, too bad.”

“Ah, but that's why I brought these!” His grin stretching wider, Rick reached into his pocket and pulled out the handful of batteries.  _ “And  _ they're rechargable.”

Had Daryl not been holding Ellie, he probably would have smacked the batteries out of his hand, flipped the table and walked off. But Rick could still see his thick blush on his cheeks. “At least you don't-”

“Found it,” Rick laughed, picking out the handheld camera from the box. Even when he knew it was dead, he still opened the viewfinder and slipped his hand through the strap. “C'mon, smile. Baby's first day home.”

Seeing Daryl's flustered expression through the lenses, and his attempt to hide from the camera, made Rick's heart flutter in his chest. “Stop!” Daryl groaned, pushing his hand in front of the camera.

Still trying to hold back laughter, Rick complied and set down the camera. “Let's just watch a couple. Alright? We can relax.”

Daryl was still muttering mutinously under his breath, but he finally leaned back into the couch again. Rick rested the player on his lap and replaced the batteries, then flicked it on. There was already a DVD inside, and while Rick  _ really  _ should have checked to see what was inside, he just assumed it was one of Carl's soccer games.

As soon as Rick pressed play, though, the speakers erupted with long moans and panting breath, and the screen was filled with two sweat-slicked bodies.

_ “-such a fucking whore for m-” _

Rick slapped the screen shut. Mortified silence coated the room, and he didn't dare move.

“...Dad, what was tha-”

_ “Nothing!” _ Rick and Daryl yelped in unison.

More silence took over, and Rick could feel Carl's stare burning into his body. Barely able to hear over his hammering heart, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Daryl reached over and grabbed the booklet of DVDs, flipping it open to the numerous discs with random titles scribbled over the top with a sharpie.

Daryl took the player off of his lap and popped open the lid, taking out the unmarked disc from the player and sliding it to the back of the booklet. He replaced it with a disc labeled ‘Carl's first spaghetti night.’

“Let's watch something else.”

* * *

While Carl seemed to be content to digging through every corner of his room, finding hidden treasure and lost belongings, it took only a couple minutes laying in his bed to fall asleep, curled up in old quilts and blankets tucked away in the basement. They had found Carl's old crib, and while Daryl wasn't too certain to its stability, it held up to a few shakes and shoves to test it.

Ellie now laid curled up on soft blankets, staring up at the eleven-year-old mobile hanging above. “Good night, pumpkin,” Rick whispered, giving the mobile a few more cranks and letting it slowly spin. All normal baby habits aside, Ellie was a particularly easy going baby. She was almost the direct opposite of Carl.

With one final walk through the house, checking the locked doors and looking for walkers, Rick finally stepped into the master bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Sighing, Rick rubbed at his eyes. “We should try to find a pick-up and see if we can-”

_ “Fuck, Dare, so fucking sexy!” _

_ “Just fuck me, need your cock in me now.” _

Rick jolted to a stop at the doorway, his face rushing red. His wide eyes settled on Daryl laid out on the bed, one hand pulling at the collar of his shirt and the other deep in his pants. His chest was heaving with ragged breath, his skin flushing all the way down to his chest.

The heat was infectious, as the sight of Daryl practically inviting him and the sound of their sex echoing in his ear made every thought disappear except for how quick he could get inside Daryl.

Pulling at his shirt, Rick stalked towards the bed with hungry eyes, devouring Daryl's almost delirious gaze. He crawled onto the bed and nudged the DVD player to the side, almost pushing it off the bed. The sound was still cranked up, and he could hear Daryl's sex-starved growls.

Rick pushed his hand down into Daryl's pants, intertwining their fingers. He could feel the slickness of Daryl's hand, coated in lube. Of course no one would go through the nightstands, or at least take the lube and condoms still tucked inside. Mentally thanking the looters for their generosity, Rick looked back up at Daryl's heated expression.

“C'mere, sexy,” Rick rasped, propping himself up with his arm and gave Daryl's slick cock a good squeeze.

As Rick started pressing kisses to Daryl's throat, feeling his thundering pulse, he wondered when was the last time they did anything like this. Fleeting kisses, one armed hugs, that's all they had even before Ellie's birth. Their need to survive and their constant moving left both of them starved for the other, and he could only remember a few instances of stuffing themselves away to a random house or room to give in to their urges.

But now they were safe in their home, the one they had shared for almost thirteen years. In the bed that they had made love in for just as long.

Daryl rumbled lowly, Rick feeling the vibrations against his lips. His hand stiffened beneath Rick's, then finally slipped out of his pants. Even when his hands were still slicked with lube, Rick couldn't help but shudder as the fingers traced his stomach, sliding under his shirt.

Sitting up, Rick helped Daryl slide off his shirt, and he shifted himself in between Daryl's legs. “Just as sexy now as you were back then,” Rick grinned, letting his eyes flash momentarily to the screen, then back to Daryl. His eyes were focused only on the screen, to their younger bodies starting to tangle up.

M

“Shit, I looked so good back then. Look at my fucking stomach.”

Tilting his head, Rick leaned down and pressed his lips to Daryl's jawline, giving small nips as he followed the masculine lines he adored. “Still look so good. Even better, now,” he tried to reassure Daryl, running his hands across Daryl's stomach.

Sure, he still had some of the pregnancy weight, and the stretch marks, and he had lost some muscle tone, but it didn't matter. He had carried two of his children inside of him, two beautiful children, and the thought alone just about made Rick want to do it again.

“So fucking sexy…”

“Did I have fucking abs?”

Gritting his teeth together, Rick clenched his hands on Daryl's sides. “Quit it,” he complained, trying to get Daryl's focus again. “Eyes on me. Right here.”

Though he couldn't help but look at the screen from the corner of his eyes, and his heart fell.

“Was my hair really that dark? And… fuck. I had abs?”

They stared at the small screen, at their  _ much  _ younger bodies, at movements that was already making their joints ache at just the sight. After a few minutes, still staring at their in-time thrusts and their much firmer bodies, Rick silently reached out and opened up the lid, taking out the DVD. He stood up from the bed and walked across their room to the broken out window.

Winding his arm back, Rick chucked the disc as far as he could and watched it disappear into the night.

In the answering silence, Rick looked back to Daryl silently pulling up his pants and grabbing at a blanket. “You ain't saying shit. This didn't happen,” the hunter muttered, turning onto his side with his back facing Rick.

Resigning to their defeat, Rick just nodded and crawled into bed. The same bed they had shared for thirteen long,  _ long  _ years.

Shit. He was getting old.


	2. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Daryl begin their search for formula for their hungry daughter. They find much more than they had planned, some good, and some very, very bad.

If someone had told Rick that morning that he was going to need three or four bags to load up with everything they found at the pharmacy, he would have laughed in their face and told them to quit dreaming. But here he was, staring down at the bags that were starting to fill up faster than he expected.

“Should'a grabbed the SUV,” Daryl grunted beside him, juggling a few random baby medicines he managed to dig out.

While the main supplies were long gone, being painkillers and bandages, it was surprising what people passed over. Like feminine products. That had been at the top of every scavenging demands right behind food and water. It made Rick damn thankful that he was a man and not have to deal with those necessities. Though he also knew that saying that aloud would get the main male characteristic permanently removed.

He picked through the bags, not bothering to hold his grin. “I think we're gonna be in for a celebration tonight. Haven't found a haul like this in a couple months.”

“Got just what we need for celebratin’.”

A small box thunked against the back of his head, and after throwing a playful glare in Daryl's direction, he finally looked down to what he had been given. Rick snorted, picking up the box. “You really think we still need these?”

“I ain't takin’ any chances. Wrap it or you ain't getting any.”

Chuckling, Rick tucked the box of condoms into the bag, then zipped it shut. While it was still irritating not having two hands, it was starting to get easier. He just had to be careful. Hooking the strap over his arm, Rick lifted the bag and grabbed a second one, then started dragging them to the car parked outside.

Daryl had pointed out the pharmacy while they were driving back to the prison yesterday. With the formula can now empty, they were in dire need of more. Ellie was getting hungry, and there wasn't much they could do to hold her off. As she was now one month old, she needed every bit they could find.

Thankfully, that seemed to be one less problem, if judging by the basket filled with six cans of powdered formula. They were close to expiring, but they could start weaning her onto something else.

Rick shoved the bags into the back seat, closing the door quietly behind him. Maybe they could take one more sweep through the pharmacy, just to make sure they didn't miss anything.

As he glanced back at Daryl, though, it seemed like trying to convince him to stay longer would be a challenge. This was the first time Daryl had been outside scavenging since the birth. Because of that, it was  _ also  _ his first time without Ellie constantly on his hip. He was starting to bite at his thumb again, his other hand tightly grasping the basket of formula.

“Daryl,” Rick sighed, abandoning the car and stepping over to his nervous lover's side. “There's no place safer than the prison. We cleared another block last week. It's practically empty. Plus,” Rick reached down and plucked out the radio that was attached to his belt. “Hershel promised he would call if she so much as coughed.”

Daryl immediately tore his thumb from his teeth and grabbed the radio. “Status check,” he grunted into the radio, squinting at it like he could force Hershel to respond quicker.

_ “Still asleep. Like she has been for the past hour. Exactly how you left her.” _

Grabbing the radio out of Daryl's hands, since he seemed moments away from snapping back, Rick pulled it out of his reach. “See? Everyone's fine. Just one more sweep, see if we missed anything.”

“Didn’t miss shit.”

“Humor me, then.” Leaning closer, Rick made sure to steal a quick kiss on the lips. “Just you and me. I feel like I have to keep sharing you with everyone else.”

Daryl huffed softly, and Rick detected that soft blush on his cheeks. “Shut up,” he grumbled, turning towards the glass doors of the pharmacy. Unable to hold back his smile, Rick soon stepped to his side, wrapping his hand around Daryl's. He earned another mutter and a thicker blush in return.

Even after all these years, how easy it was to embarrass Daryl by something as small as holding hands-

Daryl jerked to a stop, his head snapping up. By instinct, Rick's hand went to his side, pressing against the gun at his side. He followed Daryl's line of sight to the road, then he heard it. Tires.

Someone was coming.

“Hide it,” Rick breathed, forcing himself to let go of his gun and grab at the radio. There wasn't time to call. Instead, he tossed the radio into the brush surrounding the pharmacy, then the car keys, and heard the formula cans clatter as Daryl did the same. Hide the evidence. Any evidence.

There wasn't time to hide themselves. They were standing out in the open, in front of the pharmacy, with no cover except for their car parked a good twenty feet away. Running to the car would give away their resources, too. No, they had to stand their ground.

As the vehicle rolled into sight, Rick grabbed at his Colt and checked the bullets. Three. Shit. At his side, Daryl already pulled the crossbow off of his shoulder and aimed it at the vehicle. Rick did the same, trying to tuck his injured arm behind his back.

Show no weakness.

Rick's first instinct was to shoot at the driver. Try to take him out first, then the passenger. But the vehicle was too large, could hold too many people, and the chances of missing were just too great. Instead, he leveled the weapon at the passenger, and waited.

The SUV rolled to a stop a good ten feet away. It parked, but the engine was still running. More seconds passed, and he and Daryl scarcely breathed. From the corner of his eye, he met Daryl's returning gaze. They made the decision without ever saying a word.

The door opened slowly, and out came what looked to be a soldier. Some sort of military. While the driver didn't have a weapon, the matching passenger did.  _ Definitely  _ military, a semi-automatic machine gun. It would tear through them in seconds.

“You look a little far from home,” the driver said, a faint smile on his face. He was black, and so was the passenger. Rick didn't see anyone else come out from the vehicle, but he couldn't help but think there were more.

“Just looking for supplies. That's all we're doin’,” Rick replied calmly, though his gun leveled on the driver. Daryl had his crossbow pointed at the passenger. “Place is already pretty cleared out, you're welcome to it."

“Supplies? We haven't needed fresh supplies in  _ months.”  _ His gaze flicked between him and Daryl, examining them. “You don't look like you're starved. Where'd you come from?”

Daryl's teeth clicked together, and his crossbow swung to aim at the driver. “Nowhere. Move along b'fore I put a bolt in your skull.”

The driver laughed, sending a chill down Rick's spine. He motioned to the vehicle, and the chills turned into daggers of ice as three more people stepped out. Each held weapons aimed directly at their heads.

“Are you sure about that? I don't know if you flunked out of math, but you're outnumbered just a bit.”

Rick adjusted his grip on the Colt, swallowing down the gut reaction of fear. They just had to be smart. After a few long moments, he lowered the gun. With some hesitation and a look thrown Rick's way, Daryl did the same.

“It's yours if you want it,” Rick motioned to the pharmacy, hoping this was just a dispute over resources. If they looked for themselves and saw nothing, then they could move on hopefully without a fight.

“I'm not interested on what's in there. I think I'd rather find out where you came from. I bet there's plenty there for me to find.”

The group started to advance, and Rick swallowed. Daryl's hands tightened on the crossbow, fighting the urge to shoot at whoever was closest. Both knew, though, that this would just be an execution.

“He already told you. We're drifters. Just passing through.”

“Then you shouldn't mind coming with us, then. Let's go for a drive.” The distance was closing between them, and Rick's mind sped past any possible plans. They didn't have backup. They were outmanned and outgunned. And they couldn't afford to give up the reason why they came.

“On your knees.”

Exchanging one last look with Daryl, Rick forced himself to nod. Making sure to keep his Colt pointed at the ground the entire time, he slowly sank down to his knees, and Daryl followed. The five men closed in slowly, surrounding them. The driver stood in front, watching as two of the men yanked the weapons from their grasps.

“I think we're gonna have a nice, long chat.”

As if by an unseen command, Rick caught the sight of the man standing right behind Daryl lifting his gun. But as he thought that maybe they were holding back their weapons, his blood turned to ice as the butt of the gun slammed into the back of his partner's head. In the same second, a sharp pain burst in the back of his skull, and his world went dark.

* * *

There was something wrong.

No one would tell Carl what it was, but there  _ had  _ to be something wrong.

Hershel had stepped out for what should have been a couple minutes to get some water, having been staying with Carl and Ellie ever since his parents left. He took the radio with. After Carl watched the clock hanging on the cell wall for half an hour, and no one came back, he knew something was wrong.

Yet he had stayed in the cell for longer, if only to stay with Ellie. She had woken up while Hershel was gone, and Carl knew Mom would kill him if he left Ellie by herself. So he stayed in the cell, on his parents’ bed, trying to entertain his little sister in whatever way he could.

Babies didn't do much, apparently. It made for a weak distraction against the ticking clock and the unnatural silence outside the cell.

An hour passed, and Carl could see his hands shaking as he tried to play with Ellie, and his chest started squeezing in on itself. No, there was something wrong, something bad that no one wanted to tell him.

Instantly, his mind went to the worst. That they were dead. Or worse. The sudden wall of anxiety made his stomach almost turn inside out at the thought. No, they couldn't die. Not them. Mom was too tough, and so was Dad. They  _ literally  _ survived the worst. A little outing to get supplies couldn't kill them.

But as the anxiety climbed higher and higher, Carl knew that he needed some sort of answer.

Picking up Ellie the way that Mom had taught him, making sure that he supported her head and everything, Carl crept out of the cell. There was no one around. Not even in the lunchroom. Trying to swallow down his rising sick, Carl felt Ellie start to fuss in his arms.

“No, it's okay,” Carl hushed, even as his voice shook. “Uh, it's okay, I'm right here. Big brother's got you.”

Carl kept walking towards the door, feeling his feet become more and more like lead with every inch. Ellie still squirmed and started to whimper. Thinking as fast as he could, Carl grasped at anything in his mind to soothe her.

“U-uh,” he stammered, only to remember what his parents would do when he had been fussy as a kid. Stories. They would tell him stories. And there was one he remembered in particular.

“Once upon a time, there was a-a wolf,” he began, trying to choke the words past the growing lump in his throat. No one was by the doorway. They must be outside. But why?

“The wolf was the biggest, strongest wolf of the forest. He walked alone without a pack. He thought he would always be alone, until one day, he got his foot stuck in a hunters trap. The wolf fought against the trap, but it only tightened on his foot, trapping him. No matter what the big wolf did, he couldn't fight his way free.”

Adjusting his grasp on his sister, Carl managed to nudge the heavy iron door open. He winced at the sun that streamed in, blinking the shine away as he searched the clearing. There were people by the fence.

“The wolf thought he would die alone, but then came a man. Though not a hunter, the wolf thought the trap was his, and tried to attack. He had been hurt by humans all his life, and hated them. But this man was different. He didn't yell at the wolf, or try to hurt him. He just talked to the wolf, and told him everything would be alright if he trusted the man.”

Carl's voice started to shake the closer he walked to the gate, picking out Hershel and Carol as they looked out to the road. His arms tightened on Ellie.

“The wolf didn't want to trust the man. He wanted to be alone, and would rather die than have a man help him. So the man left. But he came back, this time with food and water. The man ate and drank a little to show that it wasn't poisoned, but the wolf still refused. The man stayed and waited. Finally, the wolf got so hungry that he ate and drank. The man didn't hurt him as he did. After he finished, the man left again. The next day, he came back with more food and water. The wolf ate, and the man asked if he wanted help.

“ _ ‘I'm the strongest wolf in the forest,’ _ the wolf said.  _ ‘I don't trust humans, they have hurt me before. You will hurt me if I trust you.’ _ ”

A sound in the distance made Carl stop short, and he focused to a shape coming up the road. It was one of their cars, but not the one that Mom and Dad left with. But then coming right behind it…

There! Their car! They were home!

Relief rushed through his little body, and he would have thrown himself down the path had he not reminded himself that he was still holding Ellie. Carl picked up the pace, watching the car come closer and closer. Maybe they found more stuff. Maybe they needed someone else to help pick it up.

Maybe they found more people. People who needed help. Survivors like them.

“The man listened to the wolf, and he said,  _ ‘You are a powerful wolf, but you need help. Even the biggest, strongest creatures need help. Let me help, and I will leave if you want me to.’  _ The wolf still refused, and the man left. On the third day, the man came back with a knife. Thinking that the man would finally kill him, the wolf attacked him, and bit him. But the man didn't leave or hurt him.

_ “‘You have been hurt by others before, I can see your scars. But I won't hurt you. Even if you hurt me.’” _

Carol was pulling the gates back and letting the cars inside. The first one he could see was driven by Maggie. She drove up the path enough to let the second car in. But as she stopped, she got out of the car and grabbed her gun.

Carl stopped dead in his steps as the second car stopped inside the gates. Glenn was driving. Not Mom or Dad. Glenn.

Maggie held up her gun as she walked to his parents’ car, then grabbed the back door and opened it. She pulled someone out.

A woman. A black woman with long dreads and her hands tied behind her back. She had blood all over her.

Carl opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Maggie had closed the door, and Glenn got out. No one else was coming out. Just them.

Suddenly he rushed across the gravel path, squeezing Ellie to his chest. No, this wasn't… This isn't happening. Where was Mom? Dad?

Then the woman looked at him with dark, dark eyes. He could see it in her face. She knew. She  _ knew. _

“What did you do?!” Carl suddenly yelled, still running to confront the woman covered in blood. “What did you do to them!”

Arms wrapped around his waist and yanked him back, but Carl couldn't look away from that woman. Glenn had grabbed two things from Mom and Dad's car.

One was a sword. A long sword he didn't recognize. And the second…

Baby formula. A basket of baby formula for Ellie.

Someone tried to take Ellie out of his arms, she was starting to cry and wail, but Carl refused to let her go. As Maggie walked the woman towards the prison, all Carl could hear were his own unanswered cries.

“What did you do to my parents?! What did you do!”


	3. Good as Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Daryl wake up to the beginnings of a nightmare. And the woman isn't giving the answers Carl wants to hear.

The woman had been sitting on the other side of that glass for what felt like years. Her dark eyes would always follow whoever came to the room on the other side, then as they would leave, would focus on the door. Just waiting for whatever the group had planned for her.

Right now, it was a load of nothing.

Carl was tired of the constant back and forth between the adults in the room, being silenced before he could so much as say a word. No, this was ‘grown-up’ stuff. As if it wouldn't affect Carl at all.

As if his parents’ lives weren't on the line. As if this woman wasn't the key to know if they were still alive. All the adults would say was that they got a call on the radio that was  _ not  _ Rick or Daryl. It was this woman. She wouldn't say her name, she wouldn't say what happened, all she said was that she had the baby formula.

When Glenn and Maggie arrived, they found the woman bleeding from a wound on her leg, waiting by Mom and Dad's car with the formula in hand. In return for the formula, Maggie had promised her medical attention for her wound and food. But they also wanted answers. That's what led to now, to try to figure out the best way to extract the information.

It would be a lot easier if Mom or Dad were here. It was practically their speciality. Especially when it came to if Carl got his homework done or not.

“We could hold out on water and food,” Glenn offered, leaning against the wall. Maggie was sitting at the table not too far away, and already was shaking her head.

“We can't wait that long. Every second counts, and we can't wait a day or two for her to get thirsty.”

“I still need to take a look at that wound of hers. She's still losing blood,” Hershel rumbled beside Carl, his brow furrowed with thought. “I'd rather not have to use force. We aren't that kind of people.”

“But this is Rick and Daryl. We can't wait for them to show back up. We need to do  _ something,” _ Carol argued, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the door.

As the adults talked in circles, Carl looked to his other side to Beth. She was quietly feeding Ellie from the formula the woman brought. It wasn't easy to say, but without that formula, Ellie could have started to starve. There was only so much they could do to substitute formula for so long.

The woman knew how important the formula was. Had she not, she wouldn't have bothered and kept going. But she went out of her way to make sure someone got the formula. That meant this couldn't be the person responsible for them going missing. Why help when you're already hurting?

“She got Ellie formula,” Carl spoke up, feeling the eyes all turn to him. “She can't be all that bad.” Though he still felt a pit in his gut, Carl stood up and walked to the door. “I want to talk to her.”

“Let him go,” Hershel said, holding up a hand as the others were ready to drag him away from the door. “Could be better this way. Carl won't be a threat.”

Well, he could it he really wanted to be. Biting back the retort, Carl opened the door and slipped inside the room.

Immediately, he felt the woman's eyes on him. She was still as she sat on the other side of the glass, her hands still tied behind her back. From what they had seen, she had not tried to struggle out or look for an escape. Maybe she knew that they didn't want to hurt her? Maybe she knew that none of them were really  _ capable  _ of hurting someone for information?

They weren't torturers. They weren't like Dad, who knew how to interrogate, or Mom, who knew how to stay silent. They'd know what to do.

Swallowing, Carl walked to the small chair sitting by the glass, right by the little hole to speak through. 

He remembered this. When Uncle Merle had gotten into trouble again. Mom had wanted Carl to wait in the waiting room, but he wanted to see his uncle, too. Carl couldn't forget the sight of that yellow jumpsuit, of all the other people with tattoos and scars, all people who had done something wrong.

Carl had been six at the time. It had to be one of the few times he had seen his uncle before the world ended. Mom never talked about him, and neither did Dad. Any questions he had were met with “You'll understand when you're older.”

Trying to stifle away the bad memory, Carl sat on the chair and scooted it up to the glass partition. She was still silent and Carl hadn't heard her speak a word.

He swallowed and met her dark eyes. They were carefully blank, like Mom's. Trying to hide things. “You saved my little sister,” Carl murmured, nudging at his hat out of nervousness. It was still too big for him. Like everything seemed to be. Still too big.

The woman tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, but she said nothing.

“We ran out of formula a couple days ago. So, uh.” Carl cleared his throat, ducking his head. Was it alright to say this? What if he made it worse? Showed weakness?

“T-that was my Mom and Dad. Y'know. The ones that found it. So… thank you for bringing it back. We wouldn't have known where they went.”

Still silence.

Flicking his eyes back up to meet hers, Carl found that they were still the same. Looking him up and down. It left chills riding up his spine. Why was she looking at him like that?

“I-I just wanted to thank you. So, uh. Thanks.”

Slipping off the chair, Carl turned and walked to the door. Mentally berating himself for his weak attempt, he reached out for the handle.

“Which one?”

The voice stopped him. Glancing over his shoulder, Carl met the woman's eyes. She still was calm and focused, and he wondered if he was just hearing things.

“Which one what?” he asked, moving his hand away from the knob.

The woman tilted her head back to Carl's chair, to which he hesitantly climbed back on. Only once he was seated did she continue. “Which one is which?”

Oh. Carl got asked this question a  _ lot. _ It was kinda annoying.

“Mom's the one with the longer hair. He's got a crossbow and a leather vest. Dad's got shorter hair and a beard.”

“Your Dad lost his hand. How did that happen?”

So she did see them. They hadn't even known for sure if she did or just stumbled across the radio after they were already gone. Tucking that knowledge into the back of his head, Carl forced a smirk. “Dad got bit, and Mom cut it off. They were trying to hide from the walkers ‘cause Ellie was coming.”

Carl still couldn't describe what he felt after seeing his parents again. Mom couldn't walk, not very far. Dad had been unconscious. It took two trips to bring them back, trying to carry them all the way back to the prison block. They brought Mom back first, with Ellie, while Hershel was checking on Dad. They put Mom back in his cell and Dad in a separate one. Carl had been so relieved to know that both of them were okay, and that his sister was born, but it wasn't without worry.

Dad had to be kept separate because of his wound. Carl had to stay with Mom the whole time, and that hadn't been a good experience. Sometimes Mom got in… moods. He'd learned to live with them, but sometimes they got scary. Mom kept demanding to see Dad, but no one would let him. It just made every second of not knowing that much worse.

“She was born  _ here?”  _ The woman raised an eyebrow, nodding her head to the door. “And they both lived?”

Trying not to bristle, Carl's voice turned curt. “Mom's tough, and Dad's a cop. And Ellie's tough, too.” He didn't want to be reminded of what could have happened. Uncle Merle told him about when he was born. About how he almost killed Mom.

They still didn't talk about it, and Mom hadn't brought him to Merle ever since then. Then the world ended and Merle found the group while Mom stayed behind for Dad.

“How old is your sister? She's small.”

“A month. It's kinda hard to tell without a calendar, but she's a month old. She's small ‘cause she came from a guy.”

The woman hummed to herself, still looking at Carl with a critical eye. “And that doesn't… affect you?”

“Affect me?” Carl echoed, tilting his head. “How'd that affect me? She's still my sis. Mom's still my Mom and Dad's Dad.”

“You were born by two men. That's not how it's supposed to work. It's sad to see kids get hurt by it”

That was all it took for that familiar flame to rush into him. He wasn't hurt. He wasn't suffering. He wasn't any less of a person because his parents were both guys. Scowling back at the woman, Carl slid off his chair. He needed to get out before he had a chance to ruin any trust the woman had for the group.

Just ignore it, it's not worth it. His parents’ words swam through his head, the constant assurance that there was nothing wrong with what he was, or what their family was.  _ They  _ were wrong.

Grabbing the handle, he was about ready to swing the door open when the woman spoke again.

“It doesn't matter now, anyway. They're as good as dead.”

* * *

The first thing Daryl felt was the ache in the back of his head. The next was the tightness on his wrists and ankles. And while both of those things could have simply been linked to an overly adventurous night out with Rick, the fact that his body was aching everywhere except where it should be cleared that up. This wasn't some crazy fuck that got out of hand.

“You with me?”

Gritting his teeth together at the pain that ran through his head at the soft voice, Daryl shook himself. “Motherfucker…”

“Yeah. I know.”

Finally, Daryl opened his eyes, squinting at his blurry surroundings. The room was dimly lit, and honestly looked like shit. A long table stretched out in front of him, but as he finally found where the voice was coming from, there was a soft sense of relief.

Rick was right beside him, but one look at him didn't soothe his nerves. His eye was swollen up, scuffs on his face and random spots of blood marked his skin. “You look like shit.”

Rick wheezed beside him, cracking the smallest smile, and shook his head. “You're definitely the prettier one now.”

“Fucker.”

Of course Rick would try to make light of the situation, the fact that they were both taped down to chairs in what had to be an interrogation room. Either that, or this was some kinky shit he definitely didn't sign up for. Could he at least get a safe word?

Clearing his throat, Daryl took in a calming breath. They were alone, at least. The room seemed sealed up tight except for a metal door that had no handle on the inside. Because of course it wouldn't. That would be too easy. Tugging at his restraints, he was disappointed to find that they held tight. No, this wasn't gonna be easy.

“What's the plan, Ranger Rick?”

Daryl was surprised at how at ease they both were. Probably because they had gotten out of worse messes together. There had been a gang of bandits only a few weeks after leaving the farm, managing to sneak up on them in the middle of the night. Within a couple hours, the bandits were dead and they went on their way with a fresh supply of ammo and supplies picked off of their bodies. They definitely underestimated Rick when he was pissed. It was fucking  _ hot. _

Glancing down at Rick's arm, he saw that they had taped down the entire forearm, since there was no hand to lock him in place. A bit of an overkill, if Daryl was honest with himself. That tape was gonna be painful to rip off later.

“There's at least two at the door. I came to as they started taking us out of the van. Just kept quiet. Think we're in some sort of town. Saw some civilians on the way in.”

“Know the way out?”

Rick shook his head. “I got caught.”

“‘Course you did.”

“Ain't my fault they kept putting their hands where they don't belong.”

Daryl rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the pounding in his head. “I got the knife in my boot. I'll see if I can work my ankle loose. Or somethin’.” At least Daryl was creative with where he shoved his weapons. Unlike Rick, who just  _ had  _ to have a holster for every weapon and a designated location.

Wiggling against the restraints, Daryl found that they were taped up tight. There was no loosening them by strength alone. The fact that it was tape meant that it would be hard to tear through anyway. Maybe teeth? Go one strip at a time.

“If I could knock the chair over, I could probably try to grab at your ankle, try to pick off the tape.”

“S'no good,” Daryl grunted. “You're on my right side. Gonna have to turn all the way ‘round to use your right hand.” Leaning his head down, Daryl squinted at the tape and tried to find an edge. “I just need to get one hand loose, grab the knife, then we can get the fuck outta here.”

Glancing up, Daryl smirked as Rick started to wiggle his left arm. His stump may be the way they get out of this shithole if he could just slip it out of the tape. He watched from the corner of his eye as Rick twisted his arm against the tape, grunting and cursing under his breath.

“You got your stupid wax strips back,” Daryl smirked, relishing in Rick's flushed expression. “Shame they ain't by your dick.”

“I told you to  _ never  _ bring that up again.”

“Fuck that, you're the idiot who thought that waxing by your dick would get me to suck you off-”

“I was seventeen, fuck!”

Leaning back into his chair, Daryl huffed out a few laughs. They'd be out of here in no time. There wasn't a sticky situation yet they couldn't get their way out of. Then once they were back home, they'd-

The door opened suddenly, and Daryl cursed under his breath. Why wasn't he paying attention? Rick had gone completely still beside him, all good humor evaporated in an instant. The man at the doorway had a gun in his hands, and he walked towards the two without hesitation. He didn't say a word, not as he walked behind their chairs.

With a jerk, Daryl felt his chair being tilted back, then pulled sharply to the side. The legs scratched against the floor as he realized he was being dragged away. He managed to meet Rick's eyes, and his stomach dropped at the fear that lingered inside.

Don't do anything stupid, Rick. I'll be fine. I ain't saying a word.

Sucking in a deep breath, Daryl just nodded at Rick, hoping that he was hiding the dread that pooled into his body. After a second, Rick nodded back. They were going to be fine. Just had to keep themselves calm and collected. No way were they dying to something this petty.

They wanted information, after all. They wouldn't kill them. At least, not right away.

Daryl held Rick's eyes until the man set down his chair to knock on the door, knocking three times. But before it opened, thick cloth obscured his vision as a bag was pulled over his head. Shit, they were smart. Making sure he couldn't see the ways in or out.

His chair was dragged again once the door opened, and Daryl tried to feel the turns. There were only two, and Daryl had a feeling he wasn't far from Rick. A door opened, dragged through, and closed behind him. He was dragged a few more feet, and after a complaint about his weight from the other man, Daryl made a mental note to kill him slower, his chair was finally set upright again.

Taking in one more deep breath, Daryl closed his eyes and focused on the sounds. Just like when he was hunting back home. He could hear the man walking around, then drag something. There was a soft clatter as he dragged, something metallic. Tools. Probably to try to get him to talk.

Clenching his hands, Daryl fought down the new wave of dread. He wasn't going to talk. It didn't matter what happened to him. Or to Rick. Because they both knew they would happily die to protect their kids.

All Daryl hoped was that someone would find the formula, and fast. Maybe Rick told someone where they were going. Little Ellie is going to get hungry.

It was hard to consider not being able to see his little girl grow up. But she's gonna be strong. Gonna kick some ass.

Their Lil’ Asskicker.

The seconds ticked by as he waited, listening to the rustle of tools as they were picked and moved around. Just get it over with. Then the sound stopped, and the footsteps came back to him. Bracing himself, Daryl felt the bag being yanked off of his head and he blinked open his eyes.

A dark room, and a table right in front of him. To his right, several feet away, was the tray filled with tools. Scalpel. Hammer. Saw. A lighter. They weren't very creative. Didn't even have the belt. Huffing lowly to himself, Daryl watched the man walk away from his chair and to the door. He knocked three times, then it opened, and he disappeared through the gap.

Daryl strained to hear through the silence, and tried again to wrestle his arm free. Maybe he should try the teeth now? Staying silent, Daryl leaned down and bit at the edge. Ugh. Disgusting. Well, dying was going to be a shit ton more disgusting.

He had just almost nipped through the first of many layers of tape when the door suddenly swung open.

“Sounds like someone's got a lil’ secre-”

Daryl's entire body went stiff, every muscle locking in place, but his jaw still fell open.

No. It couldn't be.

“...Ho-ly  _ shit.  _ What the  _ fuck _ happened to you, baby brother?”


	4. Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family is back together again; Rick, Daryl, and Merle. If only they would meet in better circumstances than this.

“Ho-ly  _ shit.  _ What the  _ fuck _ happened to you, baby brother?”

Daryl shook his head, trying to chase away the voice. This was  _ not  _ the time to go crazy. But as he lifted his head again, he was still there.

Merle. Standing at the other side of the table, as alive as Daryl was. 

There was a sudden surge of relief that overtook Daryl's body, and he had to bite down some sort of outburst that would certainly have been embarrassing. But Merle… He was alive. His brother was  _ alive! _

Merle still was in some state of shock, looking Daryl over head to toe like he could be some imposter. Daryl would have thought the same thing, had it not been for the obvious replacement of his hand.

“Holy mother of Mary, I can't believe this!” Merle grinned, rounding the table and Daryl couldn't help but hope that this experience was over before it started. Merle was here. He'd help them. Even if Merle was a shit brother at times, they were still brothers.

Merle would cut him loose and find a way to let he and Rick leave. Maybe Merle would sneak out with them. They'd go back to the prison, and they could start over. Start all over. Daryl could feel a smile twitching onto his face, his shoulders sagging with relief.

It was a miracle. His brother was alive, and he would finally-

Merle stopped halfway around the table, and his grin fell away. “Shit,” he grunted, turning back to the door. He paused for several moments, and Daryl could practically hear the rusty wheels starting to click in his head.

He took a step back, throwing his gaze back to Daryl. “Uh, gimme a sec,” Merle grunted, not meeting his eyes. Before Daryl had a chance to even open his mouth, Merle walked through the still open door and shut it behind him.

The silence that hung over the room chilled Daryl to the bone, and whatever smile he had fell. No, it wasn't going to be that easy. It never was. And the longer Merle was wherever the fuck he went, the more dread pooled back into his body.

When Merle came back, Daryl knew that it was different. The smile was too wide. He could see straight through his brother even when Merle tried his best to hide it. Daryl could always see. And as Merle dragged in another chair, Daryl knew that this was not a rescue.

“Wow,” Merle whistled, looking over Daryl as he closed the distance between them. He settled the chair right in front of Daryl, sitting down and still grinning. “What kinda luck is this shit? Here I thought you would fly the coop and survive like the badass you were, but… Now you're here. Shit.”

A prickling ran up and down his spine, and Daryl stayed silent. This wasn't a reunion anymore.

“C'mon, baby brother. Ol’ Merle is here! Just like old times! What, you thought I was dead? After your hubby dubby handcuffed me to the fuckin’ roof like an animal? Left me to die? His own  _ brother-in-law?” _

Daryl clenched his jaw, holding back the words that almost came hurdling out. He wasn't there when Glenn, Merle, T-Dog and a few others found Rick. But he knew what happened. Even when Rick didn't want to tell him why he cuffed him in the first place, knowing full well that telling Daryl could kill him. Rip his heart out.

No one else had that same generosity. And Daryl saw the evidence on Rick's body himself.

He let that anger swell in his gut as Merle continued to grin, then shift a little closer. “I was trying to do you a favor, y'know. You were finally getting back to yourself again. Back to huntin’ with Merle, all that shit. You wouldn't have even  _ known.” _

Daryl's nails dug into the wood of the chair, knuckles already turning white. “I know what you did,” he rasped, his voice low. But he couldn't get those words out. To accept what his own brother had done.

Laughing, Merle leaned back in the chair and rubbed his hand against his face. “Ah, shit. But hey. I can forgive and forget. Might need a little somethin’ to make up for losing my hand, though.”

Merle raised up his arm, his eyes following the blade that was just a little too close for comfort. “Got a helluva upgrade, though. Y'get some pretty nice shit here if you behave. So, let's get this over with. You and I can go get your shit from wherever you holed yourself up in, come back here, and I can sweet talk the boss for ya’. We can start fresh. How's that sound?”

His words were met with silence, and that grin faded a little from Merle's expression. It slowly morphed into a frown, and he furrowed his brow.

“C'mon, baby brother. I'm giving you a helluva deal. Boss wanted me to cut you up a bit first, but we can play nice. I just gotta prove that you're still the good ol’ squirt back before you started fucking around with the wrong people.”

Fucking around? Daryl liked to think he was a pretty patient guy. He could wait out Carl's old fits when he didn't get his way, or even Rick's constant nagging to get into his head. But Merle always knew how to push his buttons.

“I think we need to get you back in shape, anyway. No fucking  _ way _ you're tracking shit like that! That's gotta be thirty pounds!”

“Fuck off! I just fuckin-”

Daryl stopped himself, biting hard onto his bottom lip. No, Merle can't know. It just would lead to all those problems again. But just like the rest of his life, Merle found a way to fuck it all up.

“Why'd you let yourself go, Daryl? Thought you cared about hunting. Not gonna be doing shit like that. S'like you're pregnant or some shit.”

He couldn't stop the flinch if he tried, nor could he hold Merle's intrusive gaze. The silence that coated them told his brother all he needed to know.

“Holy shit. You're not… You ‘n friendly bumping uglies  _ now?  _ That shit's gonna get you killed!” Merle's eyes were sharp, glaring down at Daryl like he was a little kid again. “Like fuck am I letting you go back, now! Need to get you to the doctor, get that shit-”

“I ain't pregnant. Not anymore.”

Daryl barely heard his own words, but he heard the breath that escaped Merle. “...and you're still alive?” Merle breathed, actual astonishment in his voice. Merle paused, and out of the corner of his eyes, Daryl saw his face go somber. “Did it… Shit, ‘m sorry, Daryl, I-I knew you wanted ‘nother lil one, but… when did it-”

“She's fine. We're both fine.”

“O-oh.”

More silence. Daryl couldn't bring himself to look up at Merle again, to see his expression. Because he didn't know what he would find. Merle shifted in his chair, rubbing at his face again, then cleared his throat.

“A, uh, a girl, huh? A lil’ Dixie? When'd you…”

Daryl swallowed back his words. They'd just be used against him. Merle was already doing the math, he could see his hands. Counting the months. Then counting them back again. Pausing, then counting one more time

“...Shit, you got it before hubby got-”

“Yeah.”

“Why the fuck didn't you tell me?” Merle's words were softer now, and if Daryl was still easy to trick, he almost sounded sympathetic. As if he cared.

He swallowed again, shaking his head. He couldn't say anything. Even as thousands of words hung on his lips, he knew he couldn't say anything. Not to Merle. Not to anyone. He refused to let them inside his head and see the damage he buried away.

But all he could think was that night, after scavenging a couple tests. He took them all, hoping that they were lying to him, that he wasn't pregnant with his dead husband's baby at the end of the world. Had Shane not found him, Daryl might have done something he'd regret. Still could have, if Shane hadn't insisted on staying with him.

In the dead of night, Shane let Daryl pour out everything. From the last time he saw Rick alive, arguing about petty shit like they had for months, to staying in that house. How many people he shot dead on his doorstep. Shane didn't ask questions, just let Daryl talk and talk, cry and talk some more.

How he wanted to take back everything, how he'd rather die than know that Rick died hating him or think that Daryl despised him. How he didn't know if he could carry his baby, if it was better off not being born in this world. And how he didn't want Carl to suffer any more. After what could have been hours, Shane just held him, and told him that it was going to be okay. He'd be there for Daryl, for Carl, and the baby.

It had been one of the few moments in his life that he let someone see inside his head, and didn't regret it.

Daryl never thanked Shane for that. He'd respected Shane, who practically became his brother. A real brother. But something inside that man snapped when Carl got shot, a boy he almost adopted as his own for years, and all of those secrets Daryl had confided came undone.

The memories were flowing steadily now, and the silence didn't help. He didn't want to remember his fear that never left even when Rick came back. How he just sat there after telling Rick, watching the emotions flash upon his face one by one. And it always circled back to that last one. The fear.

Merle stood up suddenly, walking to the table with the tools spread across them. They knocked against each other as Merle searched for something, before he finally came back.

“I'm gonna make this right, baby brother,” Merle grunted, before he pushed Daryl's chair closer to the table. Then he unfurled something onto the table, and Daryl barely had to look up to know it was a map.

“All you gotta do is tell me where. Then we'll get you and the kiddos nice and settled back here. You won't ever have to deal with that shit again. Get that baby a'yers safe. What's her name?”

When Daryl didn't answer, Merle paced to Daryl's otherside, grabbing the map off the table. “Tell you what. I'll let your little friends come, too. Just tell me where.”

This time the map was rested down into his lap, and Merle pointed at a random spot. Daryl didn't care to look. “Here's where we're at. If it ain't far, we can go right now. Get the kids in a real house, in a real town. Get you out of that shit.”

Daryl just stared blankly at the floor, letting the words pass by without really thinking. They were all lies. That wasn't what Merle wanted. All he really wanted was…

He heard Merle inhale through his teeth, before he slammed his fist down on the table inches away. “Don't make me do this shit! I'm tryin’ ta be the nice guy and get you out of this!” Merle snarled, starting to pace behind him. “‘This shit’s all gonna be on your head!”

Merle continued to pace, starting to walk around the room. “You know what they're gonna do if they find it?” He slammed his fist onto the table again, making it shake.

“Fucking kill ‘em! Kill ‘em all! Don't matter if that baby's still suckin’ on your tit, she's gonna be a snack for the biters! Chuck her right into the pit!”

The images flashed through his mind with every word, but Daryl held his tongue.

“They'll make ya’ watch! Then they'll do the same shit to Carl! Let ‘em die nice and slow! And it's gonna be your fault!”

Suddenly, Merle's hand fisted into Daryl's shirt, yanking him up even as his arms twisted behind him, still taped down. He met the ice eyes of his interrogator, and the blade held mere inches from his eyes. “He's gonna gut ‘em! String them up by their innards! All ‘a them!”

Merle pulled harder, to the point that Daryl could feel his shoulders dangerously close from dislocating. He felt it enough times in his past and knew Merle knew it, too. He shook Daryl against his restraints, and he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to hold back his pain.

That soft reminder came, like a whisper in his ear. Go to your place. Where the pain can't find you. It's still there. It's never left. Hide until the pain goes away. Until it all goes away.

He could see the realization in Merle's eyes just as he felt his mind start to pull away, to find that place, and he was thrown back into his chair. It snapped Daryl back, leaving him shivering. He just wanted to go where the pain can't find him.

“Pa's right all along, you're a fuckin’  _ coward.  _ Can't do shit without someone holdin’ your hand! An’ I couldn't think the Dixon name could get any shittier. You're gonna let  _ everyone  _ you care ‘bout die ‘cause you're a  _ coward!  _ Ever since you started suckin’ pig dick, you got  _ weak.  _ You think Ma's proud of your lily-white ass? She'd have drowned you in the river like the deformed lil’ runt you are!”

_ “Leave him alone!” _

The voice that pierced through the walls made Daryl's head snap up. His body instantly turned cold as Merle stared at the wall, jaw hanging open, until it started to curl into that grin.

_ “It's me you want!” _

Merle's grin widened, and he walked to the wall that separated them from the man on the other side. “Well, would ya’ look at that. Here I thought you'd be back home, fuckin’ the ladies, living the high life! Should'a known my baby brother'd get the whole family here.”

The man glanced back at Daryl from the corner of his eyes, flashing his teeth in his still growing grin. “I think it's about time for that reunion!”

Turning to the tools, Merle grabbed the tray and took it with him to the door. Just as he was about to knock against it with his foot, he turned back to Daryl, frozen in his chair. And he saw the darkest depths of hell in his brother's eyes.

“I'm gonna make that pig  _ squeal  _ real good. And those runts ‘a yours gonna be next.”

* * *

When that door opened, Rick promised himself three things.

One. He wouldn't talk.

Two. He would find a way to get Daryl safe.

And three. He was gonna paint the room with Merle's blood.

It took everything he had to not rip himself out of that chair the moment Merle stepped through the door, grinning so wide it'd make the Cheshire envious. It didn't matter who this man was to Daryl anymore. Right now, all he was was the barrier between him and his family.

The tools Rick saw on the tray barely got a glance, not as he focused on Merle. It didn't matter what this man did to him. As long as Rick could still fight back in the end.

“Well, shit,” Merle hummed, dropping the tray onto the table and letting the tools clatter together loudly. Rick watched the blade on Merle's arm intently. Maybe he'd consider that for the future. Put a few blades on it, being able to swap around… Hm. This was the last place Rick thought he'd get ideas for the loss of his hand.

Striding forward, Merle raised the blade and tapped it against Rick's stump. “Now  _ that _ is fuckin’ great. The fuck happen, man? Get caught feelin’ up some pussy?”

Rick held back a snort. After all this time, Merle still couldn't get over this shit. The fact that he could  _ possibly  _ love and care for his brother without going behind Daryl's back at all times. Just because he'd been with a woman in the past.  _ Before  _ Daryl.

Tilting his head up, Rick refused to break his gaze. “I got bit saving my husband and baby girl from a walker. Daryl saved my life.”

Merle smirked, letting out a little snort. “C'mon. Save the shit for someone who'll fall for it.” Running the blade up Rick's arm, he rested it just underneath his chin. He didn't even flinch, staring deep into Merle's blue eyes that were just too close to Daryl's to be comfortable. But he shook the small remorse in the back of his head. This man wasn't Daryl's brother. That man died on the roof back in Atlanta all those months ago.

When Rick didn't show any evidence of flinching, Merle just tilted his head and widened his grin. “Think yer tough, don't ya? Got my fag baby brother on his belly for you, probably getting some puss on the side when he's not lookin’. That ain't a real man, though.”

“And what is?” Rick rumbled lowly, never jerking out of Merle's gaze. “Drinkin’ yourself to death? Trying to get my husband to cheat on me?”

That smile faded momentarily, turning into the beginnings of a scowl. “Nah. A real man don't hide behind a badge when he's gotta take care of shit.”

Tapping the tip against Rick's chin again, Merle leaned back and reached into his back pocket. Then he pulled out a large map, holding it out in front of Rick's face. “I'll give you a freebie, though. Like the gentleman I am. Show me where you and your little friends are hidin’, and I won't kill the kids.”

When all Rick did was tilt his head, one eyebrow raised in a silent, ‘really?,’ Merle just went back to grinning. “Don't say I didn't give you a chance.” Tossing the map onto the table, Merle strode to the tools and started picking through them.

“Boss is gonna have to have a word with Darleena. I told him not to cut up his pretty face, but I can't stop him. You can. Just tap out.” Lifting up a switchblade, Merle played with the tool, inspecting the sharp blade in the dim light. “Longer the boss is in that room, the more ideas he's gonna get.”

Inside, Rick's stomach twisted, but he just took in another breath to soothe it. No matter what, they wouldn't talk. It didn't matter if they were tortured or killed. They had too much to lose than each other.

Merle turned back to Rick, having chosen a hammer for his weapon. Still, Rick stayed silent. Letting himself gather his thoughts and his strength. He was going to need it.

“Last chance,” Merle taunted, playing with the hammer and twirling it from side to side.

“Fuck you.”

Merle winced dramatically, cringing. “Ah shit, right to the heart! How could you!” Closing the distance, Rick watched the smirk twitch onto his face. “Seems like you need another lesson, Prick.”

Raising his arm, Merle slammed the hammer down onto his knee, making his entire body jerk. Merle managed to win a small outburst, but Rick steadied himself again. He didn't think anything was broken. Merle was weaker on his remaining hand.

Scratching the fingernails into the chair, Rick steeled his gaze.

“That ain't no fun,” Merle sighed, tossing the hammer to the side. “Not messy ‘nough.”

“You always were a pig,” Rick hissed, still trying to ignore the throbbing pain that sent shockwaves through his body.

“Aw, are we gonna talk? Is this the part where we insult each other's mamas and try to make the other cry?” Merle sighed as he walked to the tools again.

“Why don't we  _ talk.  _ I got a lot of shit to get off my chest.”

“Oh, now do you, friendly? Any of it about  _ ‘bandoning  _ me on the fucking roof?” Merle looked over his shoulder, sending a piercing gaze.

“We went back for you. Daryl went back.  _ I  _ went back. You were already gone.”

“How sweet. So you  _ do _ care ‘bout the Dixons.” Merle grabbed at something on the tray, hesitated, then sat it back down. As he turned back, Rick saw nothing in his hands but a clenched fist.

“Where the fuck was that  _ nine years ago?!” _

Rick's mouth went dry immediately, and he was instantly aware of Daryl on the other side of the wall. That side was painfully quiet, which meant he could hear every word. Just like Rick could.

Clenching his jaw, Rick leveled a glare at Merle in return. “Fucker got what he des-”

Merle lashed out a punch, sinking straight into his right cheek. “I ain't here for yer lies! Daryl might lap up that shit, but not me!”

“I caught the fucker red handed!”

“You caught nothing!”

Another punch, this time straight into his gut. The air knocked out of his lungs, leaving him gasping to find his breath. His mind struggled to find something to say, trying to turn the tables. Even if he had Merle distracted from finding their base, this was treading thin ice as it was.

“What about that shit on the roof?” Rick coughed, trying to hold his glare even when he could feel the right side of his face starting to swell. “When you tried to throw me down the stairs? Use me to slow them down?  _ Everyone  _ saw that shit!”

Merle just glared harder, starting to pace in front of him. “You think I wanted to lock you up there? It was you or me.”

“Should'a been you, look what you did to him! He's  _ weak!  _ Pa toughened him up, and you wasted it playing  _ house!” _

“He was a monster! He-”

“He did  _ nothing!” _ Merle roared in his face, then grabbed him by the jaw. He shook him, making that pounding in his head that much worse. “You were a filthy liar! Fuckin’ things up that were  _ fine!” _

Scowling, Rick pulled against his restraints to meet Merle's snarl, his lips peeling back. “You have no  _ idea  _ what that man did to Daryl!”

“He made him into a man. A  _ real  _ man.”

“Is that why you took him? Trying to make  _ Carl  _ a man?”

Merle's teeth clicked shut, and he abruptly stepped back. That day. Turning away, Merle reached back to the table and grabbed a knife. The blade flashed in the low light, and Rick's body went stiff. His eyes followed the blade as Merle adjusted his grasp. “Better choose your words carefully, pig.”

Swallowing, Rick pulled at his courage. Be careful. He needed to keep Merle from remembering what he was here to get out of them. But if Merle made him talk about  _ that… _

“Daryl trusted you. Just had to look after him for a fuckin’  _ hour. _ That's all you had to do.” Feeling his heart ran against his ribs, Rick gritted his teeth together. “Then  _ you  _ just  _ had  _ to get fucking high! Dumped him with that monster a-”

His words ended in a howl as the blade stabbed deep in his leg, right behind his kneecap. He could feel the blade pushing right up against the cap, and blood pulsed rapidly from the wound.

Panting hard, Rick struggled to clear his thoughts, and choked out a few more words. “D-Daryl called me… at work… S-saying you took him. A-and I went straight to your old man and-”

The knife shifted, starting to twist and pull, trying to separate his kneecap from his bone. “Better think carefully, or I'll pop your goddamn knee off,” Merle rasped, his face unbearably close to his own.

Rick squeezed his eyes shut as he struggled against his binding, his scream still echoing in the painfully small room before he struggled to pull a breath into his lungs.

“H-he… had Carl and I s-saw him grab him, s-saw the bruises, a-and the belt…!”

Suddenly the knife was yanked out of his knee, a fresh wave of blood flooding out. 

“But that's not what really happened, was it?”

Merle stood up, inspecting the blood covered knife. Rick stared up at him through his flowing tears, and tried to speak, but his throat choked up on him. Nine years since that day, and he carried it with him. But he also knew he wasn't the only one.

Leaning over, Merle wiped the blood off onto Rick's shirt, making sure to make a nice slit across his chest as he did so. The sting was nothing compared to the throbbing still running up and down his leg.

“You think you can hide behind that fuckin’ badge, get all your cop buddies on your side? Fuck the Dixons, right?!” Merle slammed the knife down into the table, sinking it an inch deep into the wood. “Got it all figured out! Locked Pa up, threw away the key! There's one fucking problem.”

Swinging back to Rick, Merle grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him up, pulling against the restraints. “Pa was out fucking cold! He didn't do shit to your boy!”

Cringing against the sudden jerk, Rick tried to yank himself back. “He was gonna do the same exact thing he did to you! And Daryl!”

“But he  _ didn't!” _

“That doesn't matter!”

Rick's shout echoed through the room, before he could catch himself. The silence only enforced his words, the meaning. The truth.

“H-he was going to do it! I saw the belt!”

“He did  _ nothing!” _

Throwing Rick back into the chair, Merle scowled down at him. “You locked him up for  _ nothing.  _ And those convicts? All those  _ rapists _ and  _ murderers? _ You know what they do to child beaters?” Grabbing the knife and yanking it out of the table, he lifted it up and swung it back down, this time deep into Rick's thigh.

“Strung him up by his guts! Turned him inside out! You murdered him!”

Fighting back a howl of pain, Rick snarled. “He beat Daryl! The same way he beat you!"

“Bullshit, I took the hits for the kid. He was too busy hiding in the fuckin’ woods like the runt he was.”

Rick opened his mouth to fire back, before a thought snuck his way into his mind. Merle didn't know. He honestly didn't know. How could he not? Grinding his teeth together, he flexed against his restraints.

“He beat Daryl with a belt. He told me. Told me about how it hung on a hook on the wall, how he'd make Daryl bring it to the sick bastard.” With every word, Rick watched the small twitches on Merle's face. He saw the lingers of denial, laced with memories, details that Rick wouldn't possibly know by himself.

Becoming more painfully aware of the silence on the other side of the wall, Rick swallowed down the urge to silence himself. Even when he knew Daryl would feel humiliated, shamed. He would pick up the broken pieces once they got out of here, but he needed to show Merle in any way he could.

“He'd make Daryl count. If he couldn't keep counting, he'd start over. The highest he got was twenty-”

“You're fucking lying!” Merle snapped, his hand fisting at his side. “Filthy liar, that's all you are!”

“He's got scars all over his back. But he has scars on his thighs, too, because it was the only place he could cut himself and not-”

Another punch straight to his jaw, and he could have sworn that it rattled every tooth. Blood pooled into his mouth, but as he tried to suck in a breath to continue, Merle struck again. And again.

“Nothing but a filthy liar! A dirty cop! It's your fault Pa's dead. You lied to everyone. Lied to  _ Daryl.” _

“I lied to protect my family!” Rick choked out in the pause of punches, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

Merle snarled lowly, but he lowered his fist. Rick could barely see through his tears and the swelling, but he saw Merle lean in close, studying his face. He rested his hand and his bladed stump against the armrest, much too close. Rick could feel the blade against the side of his right arm, running up and down, leaving small cuts and scraping across the wood.

“I'll give ya’ one last chance to straighten your shit out. Tell me where you fuckers are hiding, and I don't give ‘em the same treatment you gave Pa. Or don't, and hang with ‘em.”

Rick raised his head again, daring to meet his eyes, but he could see the shadows in his gaze and how his jaw clenched tight. While he wanted nothing more than to struggle, he knew better.

Because as Merle turned his back and grabbed his tools, he let his gaze fall to the knife still buried in his thigh. And when the door closed up tight, Rick glanced to his right wrist, and huffed out a laugh. They might just make it out of this hellhole yet.


	5. Just Survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the Governor's turn to interrogate. All Daryl needs to do is survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Chapter contains attempted rape

The prison was silent again. Carl hated the silence. It seemed that right before anything bad happened, there was silence. A calm before the storm, Dad always said.

Before Dad got shot, there had been a tension in the whole house. Mom and Dad had been fighting again. Not one of those big fights that echoed up and down the house, but mutters and scowls. It had been about how little they saw each other, conflicting work schedules and Dad taking on more and more shifts. Mom kept saying how it seemed that Dad just didn't want to be in the house anymore.

Before the end of the world, it had been countless days sitting in the hospital waiting room, himself and Mom giving blood to try to do whatever they could to help. Mom couldn't give blood, and looking back, it was probably because of Ellie. Mom hardly spoke a word, and he started to hide again. Just stay in his room. Shane and Lori did what they could to help, bringing suppers and inviting them over to their house, but Mom always told Carl to go without him.

He'd been with Shane and Lori when the news started coming in about outbreaks. When they all rushed to his house, Mom met them at the door with a couple bags filled with food, clothes, and most of all, weapons. Mom was far from a physical person, even with Carl and Dad, but that day, he grabbed Carl and squeezed him, saying over and over how much he loved him, and that everything would be alright, that he would find him once Dad came home.

He didn't see Mom again for about three weeks. And he came without Dad.

It were those reasons that Carl couldn't stand the silence. Ever since Maggie, Glenn, Axel, Carol, and Oscar left to find the ‘Governor's’ base, the remaining were silent.

The woman, who still hadn't given her name, was sitting in a cell by herself. They had untied her, but kept the door locked. Carl had the key. Hershel and Beth were staying in the lunchroom, with Hershel making counts of medical supplies and Beth reading.

It left him and Ellie in his parents’ cell. Even Ellie was quiet. It just wasn't natural.

Holding Ellie in his lap, Carl tried to calm his racing heart. They were going to be fine. Everyone was. Mom and Dad were going to come back home, Mom would brush it off like it was nothing, and Dad would make sure everyone was safe again.

“I didn't finish your story,” Carl mumbled, but he couldn't find it within his gut to continue it. All that filled his head was the worst. Whoever had taken Mom and Dad had already killed them, and were coming for the prison for the rest.

Unable to sit inside the cell, Carl curled his arms tighter around Ellie and stood up. Maybe a walk. Clear his head. Maybe go see if Hershel needed any help.

Though as he passed by the cells, his steps faltered in front of the woman's. He could feel her gaze again, making his skin crawl.

“This must be Ellie,” the woman hummed, and Carl finally turned his head and meet her eyes.

She was just sitting on the bed, hands folded on her lap, and her eyes focused on his sister. She was calm and collected, and he had yet to see her as anything else.

When Mom and Dad come back, maybe they could get the woman to leave. She did them a favor with the formula, and they did a favor by tending to her wound and letting her rest. Debt repaid.

Shifting his arms, Carl boosted Ellie up into a better hold. “Yeah,” Carl dryly replied, squinting from beneath the brim of his hat. “Not a lot of other babies around right now.”

Her lip twitched, but she still stayed composed. In slow motions, she slid herself farther down the bed, closer to the bars, and Carl forced himself to stay rooted in his spot. “I haven't heard her make a peep.”

“She's really quiet,” Carl said. “Mom said she's smarter than most grown-ups and knows to stay quiet around walkers.”

“Still. Having her around will make trouble. She's going to cry at the wrong time.”

“What else are we going to do?” Carl shot back, narrowing his eyes even more. His arms squeezed harder, and he boosted her to rest across his shoulder. “It's not her fault the world's like this. Babies are still going to be born. We just have to be careful.”

“Have you lost anyone?”

Carl's hands froze, and a chill rode down his spine. Why was she asking this?

“Everyone has,” he said. “You probably did, too. It's just how it is, now.”

Being prepared for anyone to die at any point was the new normal, something Carl didn't like getting use to. He should have felt something when he had to shoot Lori, a woman who had been like a second mother to him, but he didn't.

All he felt was the knowledge that it was just her turn to die.

It was wrong, and Carl knew that. It was why Maggie took the blame, saying she had to be the one to shoot. How Carl didn't take the gun from her hand to do it, as Lori was dragged down by walkers. Maggie just hid it all away.

At least that way, Mom and Dad wouldn't worry. It was just the world they lived in now.

“Are you ready to lose them? Your parents, your sister, yourself?”

Carl's first instinct was to snap back, to just growl at the woman to get out of their territory and not come back. But those thoughts just came back.

“I don't get a choice. None of us do.” Carl tightened his arms around his sister, in any attempt to shield her away from the woman. He had a bad feeling about her. She just seemed… Off. Watching them, trying to find their secrets. Maybe he needed to be more careful of what he said.

Glancing to the lunchroom, he saw Beth starting to warm some water for another bottle. “I gotta go,” he grunted, not passing another glance back to her.

“I'd get ready, if I were you."

“For what?” Carl asked before he could stop himself, pausing in his steps.

The woman stared at him, brow furrowed, and leaned against the bars. “Trouble's coming. When your friends don't come back, someone else will. And they're not going to waste a shot.”

* * *

How long had he been sitting here, listening to the silence on the other side of the wall? How long had it been since Merle left?

Didn't matter. Daryl knew he wasn't coming back. Merle knew better than anyone that he was a stubborn fucker that wouldn't change his mind.

Didn't change it when he said yes. Didn't change it when he said I do. Didn't change it when times got hard, when they'd fight, when they spent nights alone and apart. After all the shit he went through to get to this point, a little torture was nothing to Daryl.

He'd be strong. Always had to be, no different now. Rick needed him to stay together, to stay quiet while they found a way out.

Closing his eyes, he dropped his head, trying to chase away the echoes of their voices. Of the screams of pain. Of Rick's quiet words, Merle's thick denial. Of course Merle never knew. He never was around. Not after Mama died. Off to join the war, go be a man, and abandon his little brother.

But was it really true? All this time… Rick lied to him?

A scowl crossed his face, anger curling up inside before he forced himself to shake it out of his body. No, there wasn't time for that shit. They had to get out of this hellhole, and that wasn't gonna happen if Daryl had his head in his ass. Focus.

Merle wasn't going to be any help. They were alone. If he was right, there was no one in Rick's room. If he could get his stump out, he could try to break loose. If Daryl could get to the knife in his boot, he could cut himself free and wait for an opening. Just had to be patient.

The door opened in front of him, but Daryl didn't look up. Just stay calm, stay quiet. Conserve your strength. Survive through this so you can get home to Ellie and Carl. Survive to get the formula. One of them had to make it after all this.

Footsteps clumped against the ground, heavy boots. It wasn't Merle. He would have said something already. Probably rubbed it in his face that his husband had lied, that Merle was right and that he couldn't be trusted. Or just started asking questions about if Pa really beat him.

If he still had the scars. If he really cut himself. If he did what a Dixon shouldn't; break.

A hand grabbed onto his chin, yanking his head up to stare at his captor.

He didn't recognize him, but at one look, Daryl knew that this would not be pleasant. The man's eyes were cold and he stared down at Daryl like he was nothing more than a smear on the bottom of his shoe. Insignificant, not worth his time. This had to be the boss.

“You have something I want,” the man said smoothly, his fingers tightening on his jaw and refusing to break eye contact. “And I'd rather do this with as little death as possible. But that all depends on you.”

Daryl didn't speak, just narrowed his eyes. If he thought a lot of smooth talk would get answers, he was sorely mistaken. Jerking his head out of the man's grip, he focused on the table, if just to look away.

That is until he felt the cold barrel of a gun press into his throat, just beneath his chin. “This is just insurance,” the man said, forcing Daryl's head back to where he was staring at the ceiling. That gun was still pressed into his throat, a clear path to the brain. It would take one shot and he would not miss.

Feeling his own Adam's apple get caught on the barrel, Daryl swallowed down his instinct to fight back. Had the gun been anywhere else, at his temple, he could escape it. This, he couldn't fight back. All he would do is alter the aim, and death would be slower. Painful. Missing part of his head and bleeding out.

With his head still tilted far back, he couldn't begin to see what the man was doing. But then he felt a sharp pain at his wrist, a blade. Seconds later, it was on his other arm. Then, with a quick yank, the tape was ripped from both arms, making him jerk in the chair. No, ignore it. Don't show weakness. Just stay calm.

“Stand.”

Holding back a growl, since his ankles were still firmly tied up, Daryl shifted in the chair. He moved slow, as the gun was pressing so hard to his throat that he could swear it would knock him back again.

The gun didn't move from his throat, still keeping his face pointed to the ceiling. It made him wonder just what the hell this was going to accomplish. He had his hands free, to where if he really saw an opening, he could fight back. Only if he knew he would win.

“You're smarter than your brother. Doesn't say much, but you know when to listen. You know what you'll get if you don't.”

Daryl heard the sharp click of the hammer being drawn back, trying not to flinch at the sound. Stay still. Do whatever it took to survive.

After feeling the gun pressed to his throat so long that it would leave some sort of a mark, it finally moved away. Not far, though. Not as he saw the gun in the corner of his eye, pointed directly at his temple.

The man took a couple steps back, now out of reach. He jerked the end of the gun down to Daryl's chest, then back to his head. “Take it off.”

Keeping the man in his peripheral vision, Daryl simply stared ahead. He would not give the man the satisfaction of a glimpse into his mind through his eyes. With slow, sure movements, Daryl ignored the still stinging cuts on the side of his wrists and pulled the vest down from over his shoulders. It landed in a pool of leather on the chair.

The man narrowed his eyes, and his hand adjusted on the gun. “All of it.”

If he expected a reaction from Daryl, he didn't get one. Just his fingers reaching up again and pulling at the buttons of his shirt, one by one. There were no thoughts through his mind, just blank and still.

Because he already was searching for that place. Where the rest of the world can't find him. Away from this room, from the man with the gun, from his husband listening on the other side. As the fabric spilled down to join the vest, he felt himself drifting. Following that voice that lured him deeper and deeper.

He took in a slow breath, and brought in the scent of maple and cedar, and the rain. Always the rain.

Rick had bought a tent, pleading with Daryl to take him out to the woods because he'd never been camping. It had been Rick's turn to choose what to do for a date; Rick had started with the cafe about six blocks from the school, Daryl chose the park across town, and this was Rick's next choice. Being their third ‘official’ date, it came with some unsaid expectations.

Well, Daryl thought that at least. It was why he had been ready for Rick to get frustrated and leave when Daryl wouldn't  _ do that. _

But then Rick wouldn't stop talking about how he wanted to look at the stars. Just wanted to lay out under the night sky with Daryl beside him. It was cheesy and Daryl was sure it was cliche as fuck, but with Rick-

Fingers snarled into his hair, slamming Daryl face down into the table. The pain shook him back to the present, but then came the soft voice again. 

It's okay. He can't hurt you here. You're safe.

The barrel of the gun pressed down against the back of his head, cold and abrasive.

You're safe. Come back.

Rick brought blankets for them to lay down on. He'd been so fucking proud of how he found the North Star and the dippers. So fucking proud to know how to put together a campfire because he read it in a book. And Daryl couldn't stop staring into his eyes, his honest, open heart just past those stunning blues.

Finally. He could lose himself in those blue eyes. His safety. It had been so long since he had fully immersed himself in this, hiding from the world. Daryl thought he was over it, but it was always there, waiting patiently for another break.

His body laid still and unmoving under the hand that pushed down against his shoulder, slipping into scars that the fingers started to follow. The demands of telling the man what he knew went unheard. The threats unanswered.

Rick would touch those scars with such soft hands, press equally soft lips against them and murmur even softer words. How long he had kept their origin hidden, but maybe Rick had known all along how broken he really was. How much Rick had to try to put Daryl back together.

A jolt rushed through him as he felt the hand against his belt buckle, undoing it in quick motions, and then jerk to yank his slacks down. His mind battled against the primal urge to fight back, to defend himself, but the soft lulls of ignorance pulled him back, even as he heard the man's own belt buckle being undone.

If he couldn't feel it, then it wasn't there. Ignore it all, and it'll go away.

The hands that touched him were all wrong, though. He could feel them against his back, then run down to the scars high on his thighs. The raised lines of cuts that he wished he could claim were decades old. But he would slip. And Rick would still forgive him.

Then the hands ran to his stomach. The sagging skin, the marks that would never fade, the fingers pushing into the excess that would never leave. Daryl struggled to pull his mind away, but he just… Couldn't. Maybe it was because his body knew that Rick needed him awake and aware. Trying to reclaim his focus to the man on the other side of the wall that needed him.

Daryl couldn't hide when Rick needed him. Yet he still tried, because he was a coward. Merle was right. But every time he tried to force Rick's hands to replace them, words would break through his facade.

“Disgusting.”

“Broken.”

“Useless.”

“Filthy.”

_ “Fat.” _

Then the hand disappeared, and the gun lifted from the back of his head. “Couldn't even if I tried. Not with  _ that.” _

Daryl felt the rest of his false safety shatter around him. The touches burned like acid against his body, and Daryl wanted nothing more than to take the knife in his boot and peel the skin away. Cut them all out until there would be nothing left to touch.

The man stepped to the side, and grabbed onto his cheeks still wet with tears. “Look at you,” he grunted, pulling Daryl's face off the table. “Weak. You're all laid out for me like a cheap whore, just gonna let me have my way. But you're too damn disgusting to let me even enjoy it.”

With his pants still somewhere past his thighs, the man pushed him back into his chair. “Cover yourself up, it's distracting.”

No thought ran through Daryl's mind as his shaking hands started on his pants, awkwardly shifting in the chair to pull them up. Even with his skin now covered, it only trapped the touches. Still there. And Rick wasn't here to replace it.

As he reached for his shirt, both it and the vest were snatched from his fingertips. Blank eyes finally looked up at the man, who had his clothes just a couple feet away. He was staring over the vest, brow furrowed. “Bet your brother'd like this back. He told me to keep an eye out. Just in case we came across your body.”

Those eyes turned back to him, and trapped Daryl within the gaze. “He told me all about his baby brother. His nephew. Carl, was it?”

A shiver ran down his spine as that man dared to say his name. For just a split second, the fight came back to his body, but Daryl smothered it back down. Not yet. “Might do him a favor and keep Carl alive. Let him look after the brat once you're gone.”

Running his fingers over the vest again, he finally came to the wings. Ragged, stained, fallen wings.

Just as he opened his mouth again, though, there was a pounding on the door. The man glanced over his shoulder, before wadding up the vest in his hands. The pounding came again, more frantic. “What in the hell,” he muttered under his breath as he walked to the door.

Then the steel door swung open, a guard standing in its place. “Sir, there's a breech,” he said, his breath already coming fast.

The man scowled before glancing back to Daryl over his shoulder. “Take care of these two,” he muttered, not quite low enough to evade Daryl's sharp detection. Seconds later, the man walked through the doorway and the door swung shut behind him.

Then a short silence. With his shirt still tight in his hands, Daryl stared at the doorway and followed the footsteps outside.

They were walking back to Rick. The door opened, but did not close again. There was rustling on the other side of the wall, but no voices. Rick was silent. He could be dead. Could be ‘taken care of.’ They could die right now. Just like that.

But Daryl knew better. Rick would not die quietly. It was why he let out the breath he had been holding tight in his lungs and began to slip on his shirt again.

After more silence, the door to the other room finally closed. At the same moment, Daryl reached down and finally pulled the knife from his boot.

Then, just as Daryl cut the last straps of tape from his ankles, the door opened. Daryl looked up just in time to meet those blues.

“C'mon,” Rick rasped, and Daryl adjusted the grip on his blade.

Daryl didn't look back as he abandoned the chair, just kept Rick's gaze, and nodded.

I'm alright, Rick. And so are you. And we're getting out of this shithole.


	6. Bloodlines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the last of their strength, Daryl and Rick escape their captors. Someone follows close behind.

There were no words. There wasn't time. The rest of the world was a blur as they moved forward, only forward. They moved in silence, and when necessary, killed in silence. Even as blood trailed behind them from Rick's stabbed leg, even when they would stumble, they kept going. Together. Like they always have.

In the distance, they heard the gunfire. The people shouting commands. But they kept going. All they could do was hope that their family was safe. That they hadn't found their location. That no more of them would be captured.

It was futile hope, but it was all they could cling to.

And so they wandered, and the halls grew more and more empty. The gunfire continued in the distance. Still fighting. And they would, too.

Daryl ran his fingers across the soft scratches that guided their way, still fresh. Blood would smear across them, a sign that they made it. The markers that he grew up following now led them to their freedom.

Even as they stumbled out into the dark forest, abandoning the town behind them, they still kept going. On and on. They followed the marks on the bark of trees until they simply disappeared. Outside the territory. Outside their reach. The moon became their only guide to a shack that Daryl feared was far too obvious, but there was no choice.

Walkers alerted to their blood were cut down with Rick's blood soaked knife, while the gun hung over Daryl's shoulder, ready to be yanked down and used at a moment's notice.

The man that lived inside the shack, a hermit untouched by time, now laid a hundred yards outside the shack and consumed by the lucky walkers that stumbled across the remains. It didn't matter the lives they took tonight. All that mattered was their safety.

But they couldn't leave. Rick was collapsed onto the couch, fading in and out of consciousness. Daryl pulled his shirt off his body and tore the strips in dead silence, neither needing to say a word. Just passing glances and small nods, hisses from between Rick's clenched teeth as Daryl poured the vodka over the wound, and their gazes that kept going to the door. Waiting to be found.

Daryl sat with a knife in one hand, a gun resting beside him, and his husband losing consciousness on his lap. His eyes never left the door.

He didn't believe in miracles, but this would be a damn good time to change his mind.

* * *

"How many casualties?”

“We don't know yet. We've found four. Two are still missing.”

“Injured?”

“Three with bullet wounds. They're expected to survive.”

“And the prisoners?”

“No sign yet.”

The Governor stared at the men standing in front of him, meeting their eyes in turn. Milton still was wiping away the blood from his hands, visibly shaken. Martinez was stone faced, but he could see the swelling rage beneath the surface. But then there was Merle.

Merle was silent, too composed. Even as his knuckles were bruised and bloody for beating the prisoner, he still seemed calm.

But The Governor also knew that Merle had been with him the entire time the prisoners escaped. He had been there with a gun, shooting at their attackers, ones he would bet came for the prisoners. Could it be a coincidence?

His eyes scanned over his men one more time before he leaned back into his chair. “And we still didn't capture anyone? They just slipped out under our noses?”

Milton flinched, but Martinez shook his head. “We got one. Ain't alive, but close enough.”

Narrowing his eyes, The Governor rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, never losing Martinez's gaze. “Explain.”

A smirk spread across Martinez's face, one that almost infected The Governor, but he would be patient. He stepped to the doorway leading out into the streets and opened it, only to grab something and start dragging.

Milton's jaw fell open with horror. “Why are you bringing it  _ inside?!  _ It's going to ruin the carpet!”

“Calm your tits, it ain't bleedin’ much anymore,” Martinez laughed, heaving the mass up until he unceremoniously dumped it at The Governor's feet. He grinned, a dog now waiting for a reward for a job well done.

But The Governor stared down at the body. Then furrowed his brow. This didn't make sense.

“The prison?” he murmured, staring down at the prison uniform the body was dressed in. “That was crawling with biters.” Turning his eyes up to Merle, he asked, “How many was in that group that left you in Atlanta?”

Blinking, Merle shrugged. “Don't know. My baby brother was the only one with ‘em with a head on his shoulders. Ten? Give or take?”

Ten people. That wouldn't be nearly enough to overtake a prison.

“How many people attacked us?”

“We aren't sure. Didn't get a good look at them in the dark,” Martinez sighed, kicking at the body. The Governor turned his gaze to Merle.

“I recognized one‘r two of ‘em. The rest I don't got a clue. Outta the ones I left, I only see a couple that could put up a fight, anyhow,” Merle said, his brow furrowed as he tried to remember. It wasn't the answer he was looking for, but at least it was an answer.

Merle looked down at the body and shrugged. “Don't recognize this'un. Could mean they took over the prison somehow.”

“So we know where they're at. I don't think they got deep enough to find the prisoners, so unless they met up, they're still separated.” The Governor paused and let his thoughts come together.

At the very most, there were three groups of people. The prisoners, the attackers, and the ones left at the prison. If the attackers were still looking for the prisoners, then… A slow smirk crossed his face, and he glanced up to Martinez.

“I want you to take a group of men out to the prison. If you run across the attackers, kill ‘em. Come across the prisoners, bring them back to me. You know what to do when you get there.”

Turning his attention back to Merle, he tapped his finger against the armrest of his chair. What to do… He had to make sure Merle stayed on his side. Had to test him.

“Merle, take two men and hunt down the prisoners. You're the best tracker we got.”

Almost immediately, Merle's face turned to stone. He opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. Definitely would be a first.

But before Merle could turn to leave, he spoke again. “Bring me both of them alive, and I'll let you keep your brother. You can do what you want with the other once you come back.”

Merle's lip twitched, and his jaw clenched around his words, but he nodded. “Got it, boss,” he murmured, then turned to leave the room. Martinez followed close behind.

It left him and Milton, and the body still sitting on the carpet. Glancing down at it, he jerked his head towards it. “Get this filth outta here before it turns.”

He ignored the stream of complaints that came from Milton and instead stared at the door the others had walked through. This would be the real test.

The blood of the covenant was thicker than the water of the womb.

* * *

The second Daryl heard the step on the porch, the knife was dropped to his side and grasped the handle of the gun. Even that small movement roused the wounded man at his side, Rick's head resting on his lap if just to be able to feel him breathe. Yet Daryl couldn't even glance down to see if his eyes were open.

His finger tapped against the trigger. Slow, methodical taps, followed by a scratch.

Tap, tap, scratch.

Tap, scratch, scratch. Tap, tap. Scratch. Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Scratch, scratch. Tap.

Silence was his first response, until he heard a scratch, a tap, then two more scratches against the couch.

Daryl's eyes remained on the door, and he leveled the gun towards it. More footsteps getting closer. Swallowing, Daryl tensed his finger on the trigger, then forced himself to start tapping again.

Tap tap.

Tap, scratch, tap, tap.

Tap, tap, scratch.

The pattern was mimicked back a few seconds later, and Daryl had to pull in a breath to keep himself steady. This wasn't the way he thought they would end. But like hell would he go down without one last fight.

_ Doo do doo, deet deet! _

The whistle. Daryl's body stiffened up as he heard the whistle. It had to have been almost year since he heard it last. His mind spun around the dozens of commands they had in their own secret language of whistles and clicks, the same they used not only for hunting but to hide from Pa. This one was simple.

Is that you?

_ Doo do doo, dee dee. _

Answer me.

His eyes flicking down to Rick on his lap, who still was hovering between conscious and not, then sucked in a breath. He whistled back.

_ Do de do de doo. _

I'm here.

The doorknob wiggled across the room, then turned nice and slow. The old wooden door creaked as it opened, making his hand twitch around the gun he still had aimed at it. It didn't lower, not even as Merle stepped through the door. Alone.

So far.

“‘Ey, baby brother, knew I'd track you here,” Merle smiled, his voice still low and quiet. He had his eyes on the semi automatic in Daryl's hand, one he probably recognized off his guards. Wasn't like they had the time to go find their own weapons. They may be as good as gone for all Daryl knew.

Daryl's eyes flicked down to Merle's arm, to the blade that was shining red with blood. Fresh blood. That didn't come from a walker, he was sure of that.

Merle edged himself further into the cabin, after shutting the door and locking it. “Knew you'd find yer way out, too. ‘Member the marks.”

Daryl remained silent, and the gun didn't twitch from aiming in the center of Merle's chest. Getting the message, Merle raised up his other hand, still holding a pistol.

“Hey, it's just me. Just ol’ Merle. Now, I'm gonna put the gun on the table. Then we can get hubby patched up,” Merle calmly explained, the smile starting to fade from his face. His gaze was flicking between Daryl's gun, Daryl, and Rick on his lap. “Couldn't grab much, but I got some gauze and stitchin’ to patch‘m up.”

“Where.”

Daryl barely recognized the rasp that was his voice, cold and unfeeling. Merle paused, then continued lowering the gun to the table. “I got a bag on my back. Got water, too.” When Daryl didn't respond, Merle's hand went to the strap of a small drawstring bag, pulled it off his shoulder, and held it out.

“I ain't movin’.”

“‘Course yer not,” Merle huffed, resuming the slow walk across the room. “It's just us. Made sure no one tailed me, covered our tracks, got rid of the baggage once I got outside the walls.”

Baggage. Meaning whoever's blood was now on Merle's blade.

It took a few more painfully slow steps before Merle coaxed his way in front of the couch. Daryl's body was tense, his hand still on the gun but his other arm laced around Rick's bruised and beaten head to pull it to his chest, all while still holding the knife. Rick's eyes were closed again, his breathing still shallow. Daryl could feel it brushing against his bicep, a constant reminder that Rick was still alive.

Merle opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. Probably because Daryl knew exactly who made these wounds to begin with.

Setting down the bag on the floor, Merle knelt down in front of the couch and dumped out its contents. Daryl tracked the rolls of gauze and bandages, the sutures, some needles, and a few random odds and ends. Even a couple antibiotics. It had to do. When Daryl did not move, it left Merle to reach out towards Rick's leg.

A low growl made him jerk his hands back, Merle staring up at Daryl's flashing eyes. “Lemme help, baby bro. Gotta replace this shit before he gets infected,” Merle calmly said, like he was trying to talk down a wild dog foaming at the mouth. Daryl's hand twitched, and he only then noticed that he had the muzzle still pointed directly to Merle, this time to his throat.

Merle swallowed, but reached towards Rick's leg and started unwinding the shreds of Daryl's shirt. Rick's breath hitched against him, and Daryl forced himself to lower the gun back to his side. Wouldn't do much good, anyway.

He could stab at this distance much more efficiently than he could shoot.

Running his free hand across Rick's cheek, he swept his sweat-soaked curls back, and pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. Warm. Not feverish yet, but Daryl couldn't chance it. Merle was staring up at him, still holding the shreds and waiting for Daryl's permission to begin.

All Daryl gave him was a curt nod, and that was all Merle needed.

Snips and stretching gauze were the only sounds in the room, silence masking over the rest. The occasional walker that smacked into the door was ignored, and it soon wandered off. Merle kept his eyes on his work, on properly cleaning and dressing the wounds he himself inflicted.

Rick faded in and out on his lap, sometimes a groan worked free when Merle would clean out the wound, and other times were stone silent. Daryl didn't speak, just continued to run his fingers through his curls, doing all he could to soothe him, to keep him conscious.

The strength that Rick had shambles together for their escape was long gone, Daryl had felt it slowly slip away with every step they had taken outside the walls, leaning more and more into his body and unable to use his wounded leg even to hobble. Merle had made sure to inflict plenty of painful damage, but not deadly ones. Hopefully not long lasting damage, either.

By the time Merle stitched the wound on his thigh closed, Daryl was coaxing Rick to drink just a few sips of water. Within seconds, though, he was out again.

It left the two brothers in their silence, the immediate danger now passed. Now there were more… sensitive matters to attend to.

“I, uh…" Merle began, his eyes unable to hold Daryl's gaze. He shoved the excess supplies back into the bag and pulled the strings to shut it, then set it to the side. No distractions. No interruptions. Just talking.

Daryl hated talking. Especially to Merle.

“You knew what Pa'd do to me. S'why you left,” Daryl muttered, looking down to his unconscious husband. Those thoughts were gnawing at the back of his head again. Merle knew he was weak,  _ Daryl  _ knew he was weak.

Rick helped him forget what he came from, at least for a while. But it was always there.

“I-I thought he just had a bone ‘ta pick with me. I would'a come back sooner if I'd known.”

“Then you came back to a fag.”

“Didn't care about that part,” Merle scoffed, glancing around the shack and spotting the vodka that Daryl had been using to flush out the wound. Licking his lips, he reached over and plucked it off the table. “Always knew you were inta’ dick. Just didn't want you messin’ with pig dick.”

Daryl's eyes flashed to Merle's face, his fingers tensing before he coaxed them through Rick's bangs again. “You fucked up a lotta shit for me,” Daryl said dryly. “Told my kid he almost killed me. Wished Carl'd die instead a'me.” Daryl paused as his throat closed up around his words, that pain he carried for so many years coming back.

“I could'a died that night, and the last thing you would'a said t'me was that this wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been a whore.”

“You know I didn't mean that shit,” Merle cut through, only making the anger in his belly curl tighter. “I thought I was gonna lose you. My baby brother. And for what?” Merle threw his hand towards Rick's limp body, a disgusted look across his face. “This dick's kid? You want kids so bad, go get one outta the shelter. Got no reason to do this to yourself.  _ Twice!” _

The voice in his head told him that Merle was trying to say that he cared, but just like whatever was spewed out of his mouth, it was shit. His fingers knotted into Rick's hair, and he clenched his jaw. “I wanted them. I  _ wanted  _ kids. The only fucking thing I wanted that I could  _ have.”  _

Daryl had been so use to the world taking everything away. Took Momma away. Took Merle. Took his innocence, his childhood, took  _ everything… _ But then the world gave him Rick.

The only thing he could hold onto in this life, and the only thing that could give him more. More life. A future. Daryl wanted that two-story house with the white picket fence, the 1.5 kids, the ‘Mom van’ and the 9 to 5 job. It was all he wanted out of this life, and he fought so hard…

And now the world was teasing him, dangling his brother just out of reach. Had been for nearly three decades. When Merle went off to war. When Merle tried to tear down the home he was building with Rick. When he kept trying to push himself in over and over, and then just as Daryl thought he changed, just when he saw a glimpse of their family, Merle would fuck it up again.

Just like now. Here he was, alive, sitting in front of him, expecting to be let back in. And dammit, why did Daryl still want him to come back?

Merle was unnaturally quiet, sitting still and waiting, like this was some scolding that would end in a time out. “You kept fucking it up for me,  _ my  _ family,” Daryl shuddered out, feeling those emotions so close to breaking. “I wanted you to be the fun Uncle Merle that'd take Carl out fishing. Help teach him how to hunt. I didn't want to have to hide you from him. I don't  _ want  _ to hide you, but…!”

Daryl clenched his jaw harder, and shook his head. Fighting back the tears. “I want my brother back,” he breathed, finally looking up at Merle who had shuffled up to the couch, meeting his eyes. “But I can't take losing you again.”

Merle's lips were in a tight line, and Daryl couldn't read his expression. But he knew he was thinking. And he hated it when Merle thought. Because it usually led to him doing something stupid.

“Then you don't gotta,” he finally said, refusing to break Daryl's gaze. “I won't walk away again. It can be back to the way it was. Even with ‘em, we'll figure it out. Promise. We can be a real family.”

A real family. Daryl tried to swallow around the lump in his throat at those words. A  _ real family. _ But Daryl knew far too well that Merle's vision of family was different than his own.

A real family was through bloodlines, not by marriage. That was the Dixon way. But Daryl wasn't a Dixon anymore.

He was a Grimes, and he had chosen his family long ago.

“I'll try again with this lil one. You said it's a girl?” Merle prodded. “What's the lil ones name? How old's she? How's Carl?”

All lies. Merle didn't care. Never cared. Won't care. Daryl just kept his mouth shut and dropped his gaze back to Rick. His hand drifted from his hair to the swelling bruises on his face. The ones Merle made, beating into his husband like he had longed to do for so long.

“They're safe, right? Got ‘em nice and safe?”

The kids that Merle had threatened would kill him. He didn't care.

“What's the lil one look like? She… she look like you?”

What would that look like? A disappointment sucking pig dick? That's all Daryl was to Merle. A waste.

Curling his arms around Rick's shoulders, Daryl slid himself down the couch, pulling Rick further into his lap. Rick just grunted and stiffened up, then fell still again.

When the silence stretched on, Daryl let his eyes close. He focused on Rick's breaths, slow and soft as they brushed against his bare chest. But he could still hear Merle, standing up and walking around the couch, then behind him. To look at the scars. The scars that failed to turn Daryl into a real Dixon.

“I, uh… I'll get some supplies. Maybe I can get somethin’ for the baby. Alright?”

Merle's words were met with only more silence. Then the heavy boots started to walk across the wood floor. Slow, like he was waiting for Daryl to call him back. To not leave Daryl again.

“Stay here. I'll be back.”

The door opened, paused, then shut again. That voice in the back of his mind whispered to him again, telling him to stop Merle from leaving. But Daryl had buried his brother so many times in his life, washed his hands of him, he couldn't bring himself to do it again.

And so he stayed silent, letting his brother drift away one more time.


	7. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl sets out to bring his brother home.

When Daryl opened his eyes again, everything was where he left it. He half expected a gun pointed to his temple or a newly turned Rick gnawing at his face, but there was nothing. Just the soft, sometimes raspy breath coming from Rick, his eyes still closed, limp and still.

How long had he been asleep? Blinking away the grit, Daryl squinted at the blinds over the windows. Still dark. If they had any chance to get out of here, it had to be now. But could he move Rick?

Letting his gaze run across Rick's still form, he looked at the gauze wrapped tight around his thigh and knee. Walking would be out of the question, not unless they wanted him to start bleeding again. They had come too far to die now.

He ran his hand across Rick's forehead and felt the steady heat. Still not feverish, just warm. He would be fine if he got rest.

Daryl moved in silence, shifting Rick's head off his lap and resting it down onto the couch. Rick shifted, but did not wake up. Still clutching the knife in one hand, Daryl started searching. He went through cabinets, through dressers, drawers, any container he could reach. They had to get supplies while they still could. Every little bit was needed.

Daryl ripped clothes off of hangers and started tearing shreds bit by bit, for the bandages they'd need. He only stopped to grab a shirt and start slipping it on. It covered the aching handprints he could still feel against his skin, like acid that kept burning deeper and deeper. As long as he could hide the scars and the pain.

He found a backpack inside a closet and started to load it with whatever he could find that might be useful. Food, medicine, tools, they all were dumped inside until he could fit no more. The man that had lived here had seemed intent on staying here forever, and had the supplies to do so. Shame they couldn't stay.

Had to keep moving.

A glass gun case had been his next attack, and it took three hits with a hammer before the glass broke way. Blood droplets led back down to the living room, where Daryl was quietly tying the shreds of fabric around each slice in his palm and fingers. It was going to make hunting hard, but he still had his other hand. It had to do.

Dropping the backpack onto the kitchen table, Daryl laid out the weapons. Didn't have his crossbow, but he did have a few knives. Had a couple rifles, too. A pistol. A few boxes of bullets. Butchering knives. If they were lucky enough to survive, this shack may be worth coming back to

No, it wasn't. Can't think of that shit now. Had to keep moving. Needed to make sure they were safe.

Picking up a Bowie knife, Daryl tensed his cut and aching fingers around the handle. First, cut through the walkers. Then, start going south. See if there's anything nearby to help them move quicker. They just needed to get home. They needed to survive this.

“...Daryl?”

The soft voice stopped him in his tracks, his hand still pressing against the handle to the front door. His hand tensed even more around the knife. Rick was awake. He needed to rest.

Setting the knife down on a countertop, Daryl moved back to the couch. Rick's eyes were still closed. He was still weak, and was going to be for a while. “Just gotta clear shit out,” Daryl muttered, not able to look any longer and instead searching for some pillow or blanket to make him more comfortable. Help him heal faster so they can get moving. 

Rick shifted on the couch, winced, and fell still again. Maybe needed something for the pain, too. Bastard fucked up his leg pretty bad, even when he avoided arteries. “Quit moving,” Daryl grunted, throwing Rick a soft glare. He was still beneath the blankets, his breathing still too quiet, too shallow. Standing back up, Daryl scavenged the room.

They needed to  _ move. _

“Daryl,” Rick croaked again, but Daryl was too focused on his task. He tossed an old blanket over Rick's body, then returned back to his bags. Had to be something in here for the pain. Enough to put Rick out. Maybe a few gulps of that vodka would have to do the trick.

“...Daryl.”

Once he got Rick something for the pain, he needed to get out of this damn shack. Walkers were going to smell the blood once they ate through the hermit, and were gonna be pounding on the door. Had to clear them out.

“Daryl, stop.”

Clear the walkers. Then try to find a way out. Somewhere safer, farther away. Find the way back to the prison, if it was close enough. Follow the river. Get them safe. Away.

_ “Daryl.” _

A hand grabbed onto his wrist, stopping him and making him flinch. Snapping his eyes up, he almost immediately looked away again when all he saw was Rick. And he had that stare again. The one when Rick knew that something was wrong. 

Everything was wrong. But that didn't matter. Not now.

Daryl almost spat out a command to make Rick get back on the couch, but he couldn't make the words leave his lips.

“Where's Merle?” Rick grunted, his words sharp. Daryl just stared at the ground, at Rick's stiff stature. 

“Don't matter,” Daryl breathed, barely able to hear his own words.

“Yes it does,” Rick snapped back, his hand tightening on Daryl's wrist. “Where is he?”

A shiver ran down Daryl's spine at Rick's rough words. Rick shouldn't care about that. Rick needed to rest. So they could leave. So they can find the others, so they can be safe, so they can-

“Daryl!”

“I don’t know!” Daryl snarled, his voice much too loud for the small room. “Don't matter!”

“Yes, it does, he's your brother.”

“No, he ain't, he hurt you! Ain't my brother no more!” The words tumbled out without his permission, without thought, and all he could think was that he sounded like that stupid little Dixon kid. The one who didn't understand how cruel the world was.

But this Dixon knew the world was nothing but cruelty. Which made it even harder to understand why he was breaking down. No, keep it together. Nothing else mattered but the plan.

Kill the walkers. Find safety. Get home.

“He's gone back, hasn't he? You  _ know  _ what's gonna happen if he goes back?”

Kill the walkers. Find safety. Get home.

“You're going to let him go? After he said he wants to try again? He could have died coming all this way to help you. Help  _ me.” _

Kill the walkers. Find… find the prison. Find something.

“Go find him, Daryl. Bring him back. Don't give up on him. Don't give up on your family!”

Kill… Find… Home. Home. Find home.

Find Merle.

Looking back up, Daryl stiffened when all he saw was empty air. The shack turned back to silence, where all there was to break it was Rick's shallow breathing on the couch. Still asleep.

Swallowing hard, Daryl turned back to the table and scooped up all he could think of needing. Knives. A gun. Bullets. Anything it took to break his way into that place.

Anything it took to break him back out.

With a clearing conscious, Daryl drew the bag over his shoulder and marched to the door, with his new goal running through his head over and over.

Bring Merle home.

* * *

Blood dripped down the blade of his knife in tiny droplets, shaking the excess onto the floor. He'd checked four houses already. Most of them were empty. The town was much too quiet, but he was starting to find people. Finding guards. He had to be getting close.

It was easy enough-find the biggest house, and start searching. Go through every room, kill whoever was inside. It was once he came to the top floor that the icy chill started running up his spine. There was something wrong.

It was too quiet. A trap, maybe? But then why let him kill so many? Swallowing down his churning gut, he turned the knob and opened the door just a crack.

It was dark. Even the soft moonlight coming through the windows did nothing to illuminate much more than the walls, where decorations adorned nearly every inch. This had to be it.

Letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, Daryl began the slow slink across the room. There was a doorway on the far side, with light leaking through the small opening. Classical music seeped out with the light, filling his ears, but it managed to help hide the sounds of his movements.

He treaded silently, almost like a snake slithering across the carpet. In one hand was his knife, while the other felt along the ground for any hazard. A cord, a wire, anything to trip over. It was slow progress, but he was almost to the doorway when his fingers pressed against something wet and warm.

Daryl paused and stared down at the ground. It was too dark to see the carpet, but there was definitely a change in color. Darker. It stuck his hand to the carpet, and took a quick tug to pull it free. The immediate thought was shoved away as fast as it appeared. No, don't think about that.

Mentally shaking himself, Daryl continued on, but with every step, there was more of that liquid. It stained at his hand, coating it more and more. A sickness gathered in his gut as the music echoed through his head, blotting out his thoughts. He reached the far wall just as his lungs started to constrict against themselves, his rapid heart clashing against the music's rhythm. Focus. Someone was in there. The boss. He just had to kill him.

But as he reached for the door, his hand slipped into the light, and his fears were realized. Red. Deep, dark, red blood was all across his hand. Over every finger. It was fresh. It was warm. And as he forced himself to look through the crack in the doorway, he could feel his own blood draining out of his body and leaving it cold.

A body laid stretched out on the floor, and in the second he saw it, Daryl already knew. But he looked anyway, as if there would be a clue that it wasn't who he knew it was. But he saw the bladed arm. The heavy body. The torn clothes. All the way to…

His missing head.

Blood still drained out of the stump left behind, audibly dripping down into the huge pool that surrounded the body. Merle's body.

Daryl jerked away from the door, the sight burned into his eyes and trying to hold back vomit. He wanted to scream, he wanted to charge in there, he wanted to  _ slaughter,  _ but all he could do was bite down onto his arm to hold back every sound. The tears burned his cheeks as they fell, and his jaws bit down harder.

It was his fault. He didn't tell Merle to stay. Merle could have still been alive if he had said  _ anything!  _ A fucking word, told him not to go, just… anything! But as grief dragged into his heart, fire instead rushed through his veins.

No, someone killed him. The person in that room. The blood was too fresh, no one had walked out, Merle's murderer was right there…!

Wrenching his arm out from between his teeth, Daryl tightened his hand around the hilt of his blade before sheathing it, and instead reached for the pistol. He would make that fucker pay.

Make him pay for what he did to them!

Daryl slammed open the door with no restraint, even as he had to force his eyes off of Merle's body. There was a recliner sitting in the center of the room, facing the wall, and sitting within it was Merle's killer.

He held a familiar red machete still wet with blood, resting it and his arm on the plush armrest. Daryl couldn't see his other arm. But as he lifted his arm to aim at the man, he spoke.

“You took your time. Had you come just a few minutes earlier, you could have watched the show.”

Daryl gritted his teeth together but stayed by the doorway. He didn't know what was in his other hand, and it was hard to see past his tears. He couldn't miss the shot.

The man shifted in the chair, his eyes focused on the wall. Daryl didn't move his gaze an inch. “A bit of a disgrace, really. Your brother was a hard worker and I'd rather not have to turn to this. Even told him that if he brought you back, you could stay.”

Liar, Daryl screamed in his head, but could not make the words come out. His eyes dropped down to Merle's body, and saw the bag just a few feet from the chair. He could see his crossbow poking out the zipper. The fucker was going to bring back supplies, any chance to help them get away…! Merle was going to help them, and now-

“Do you want to join him? Like the others?”

Daryl blinked, his arms still stiff around the pistol. It was then that the man motioned with the machete to the wall he was facing, and Daryl wished to this very day that he didn't look.

But he did. And he saw pure evil incarnated before him.

Aquarium after aquarium lined the walls, all filled with water, and all filled with  _ heads.  _ Their eyeballs were still flicking around in their skulls, jaws opening and closing, floating in the water. And as he stared at the lines of heads, he focused on one in the very top tank.

Sightless blue eyes seemed to stare back at Daryl, as he met the eyes of his brother's severed head.

The water was still tinted with fresh blood, giving the only color to the deathly gray face. Its jaw kept opening and closing around nothing, like it was cursing Daryl where he stood. He let Merle die. He let this happen.

“Beautiful, isn't it? I think I'll put yours right by your dear older brother. And then Merle will never lose you again.”

The man stood up suddenly, and raised up his other arm. Daryl's mind emptied of all the thoughts muddling it and instead screamed at him to move. Daryl only had a split second to stare at the Colt Python now held in the man's hand, before a shot echoed in the small room.

The force of the bullet had Daryl staggering back into the darkness, clutching at the bullet wound on his left side. His pistol rattled as it fell onto the ground, but he had no chance to scoop it back up.

His empty mind became nothing more than a list of commands. Hide. Fight. Survive. Daryl pressed himself against the wall on the other side of the door, desperately searching in the dark for a place to hide. There was a desk in the corner, some chairs, and another room that was probably a bedroom. Even as his will snarled at him to turn and fight, he knew that he could use the darkness to his advantage.

Still grasping at his side, Daryl darted forward and slipped behind one of the chairs, keeping the desk in his sight. If he remembered right, or at least hoped, the only light switch was at the entryway. The man would have to cross the room to find it.

Slow steps walked out of the other room and softened on the carpet, but Daryl could still hear him. The man stopped at the doorway.

“We can make this easy, Daryl. I'll make it quick. Don't have to end up like your brother.”

Daryl bit down on the inside of his cheek, before he shouldered off his bag. It would only slow him down. He tried his best to be silent as he shoved it under the chair, but even his own breaths were far too loud.

Not to mention every movement was plagued by pain, blood dribbling out of the wound and soaking his shirt. He won't have time to worry about it, though, if he died here.

The footsteps started again, walking towards him. Then stopped.

“He  _ begged _ me to kill him. He knew what I could do to him, after all. He's seen it before. Hell, helped me choose what weapon to use.”

No, Merle wouldn't beg. Daryl had never heard him beg for anything in his life. Even when Pa would get the belt, when Merle tried to protect his baby brother and Mama, he never begged.

Clenching his jaw, Daryl slipped through the darkness, going from one chair to the next. He needed an opening. An opportunity. But he needed patience and silence to do it. Looking down at the floor, he ran his hand across the carpet for anything laying around. His fingers jammed against a book, and he dragged it closer. He to the last chair, already running out of options. If he got behind the desk, he'd be cornered. He wasn't going to fit under the table.

The footsteps started again, and started coming closer.

“Didn't have to be this way. We could have worked things out, if you just told us about the prison.”

An icy shard stabbed into his heart. The prison. How could they have known about the prison?! Neither of them had said a word!

“Already sent my men down to… clean up the mess. You could have saved them, Daryl. Brought them all here. Lived in peace, working for me, taking care of your baby. We've got kids here, too. Could have grown up in a normal world. But, they're probably dead now. And it's all because of you.”

No! It can't be! It took precious seconds for Daryl to shake himself back to the present, even as the ache tried to squeeze his lungs into bursting. There had to be a chance that they were going to be okay. That they won't find them.

They had plans, had escape routes, lookout towers…! No, focus!

Looking over his shoulder, Daryl stared at the open doorway. If he could just get him in the light, he would have a clear shot to attack. That's all he needed. He glanced back to his book for just a moment, before curling his arm back. Needed to do this carefully. Couldn't be obvious. Couldn't let the book be seen in the light.

“But you can stop it.”

Daryl froze, his arm refused to move.

“I can give a call to my men right now and tell them to bring them alive. They don't have to know what happened. You and Rick were attacked by walkers and we tried to save you, but you both were too far gone. In your last breath, you saved them by telling us where they were. Saving them from starving alone.”

His fingers tightened around the book. Save his family. He was willing to die to save his family. For a second, Daryl opened his mouth. Yes, save his family. Save his babies.

But then… How could he be sure? If he said something right now, all the man would do would be to kill him where he sat. No words. No promises.

All lies.

Shutting his mouth again, Daryl firmed his grasp on the book before he threw.

He watched the book skid across the carpet, then hit against the far corner, just past the doorway. Just out of sight. At that same moment, the footsteps stopped and he heard movement.

“Hiding like a rat,” the man taunted, and the steps started to fade away. Daryl knew that this would only last a few seconds, the man wasn't an idiot. He had to move.

He moved back behind the first chair and stared over the back, as the man held his gun up and pointed it to the shadows just past the doorway. Reaching back to his side, Daryl took out his knife. He crept up behind the man step by step, before the man stepped into the light. Daryl stood up to full height, and reeled his arm back.

“It was a pleasure, Daryl,” the man said, just as Daryl was about to plunge down the blade. “But you really should have kept the gun.”

In a blur, the man swung around and lashed out with the machete, and had Daryl not ducked back down, he would have lost his head. Thinking fast, Daryl instead plunged his blade into the man's leg and tore it back out, succeeding in making him stumble and yell out in pain.

Make him pay, baby brother. He could hear the words echo through his head. Make him beg.

But it was still a far run from victory as another shot rang out and narrowly missed his head. There was a shatter in the background. “You bastard!” the man snarled, struggling to still stand as blood gushed out from his wound. He dropped the Colt Python, but instead armed himself once again with the machete.

Daryl darted back into the lit room, but the man instead lunged forward at him. He took the hit straight into his gut, knocking out his breath and slamming him down to the ground. The floor was wet beneath him, pain spiking through his body like he had landed on a bed of cacti. But he didn't have a moment to reflect, not as the man raised his arm and tried to swing down with the machete.

Clutching at his knife, Daryl swung up the blade and stabbed it into the man's wrist, stopping his blow short. But even as the man howled in pain, he still struggled to swing down his blade, to slice into his head. Daryl struggled to keep the blade deep in his arm, trying to push back, and his mind flickered with any way he could fight his way free.

That was when something caught the corner of his eye, and he saw light flash off of a piece of glass. The bullet had broken one of the tanks open, and he was laying right in the middle of it. Gritting his teeth, Daryl snarled before he reached out and grabbed at the shard of glass, struggling to get a grip as it cut against his already abused hand, but he managed to grasp it.

With an animalistic snarl, Daryl shoved the glass deep into the man's eye, and only then did the man screech and reel back. His arm slid off Daryl's knife, but as he clutched at his eye, there was nothing else but the red handled machete now inches away, dropped to the floor.

Shoving the man off of his body, Daryl grabbed at the machete and pinned the man down to the ground. And he began to swing. And swing. Slash. Strike. Again and again. His eyes took in every detail and the chasm of gore opening up in the man's skull. He felt the splatter of warm blood and brain against his forearms and flicking across his face. But he wouldn't stop.

He sliced as he pictured his family. How it was supposed to be before all this happened. Happy together with that two story house and a picket fence. Carl chasing the family dog in the front door while Daryl watched with Ellie on his hip. Rick coming home with his lopsided grin, still in uniform, and immediately scooping Carl up in a hug. He met Daryl at the door with a kiss for both him and Ellie, and then Merle would pull up on his bike. He'd come with fishing rods. Carl would run out to meet his uncle Merle, giving him a hug that Merle would roll his eyes at but hug his nephew back. A trip out to the lake to fish and to camp out under the stars in the forest Daryl and Merle grew up inside. Just them. A family.

And it was all taken away.

Daryl only stopped when his arms could no longer lift the machete, weak and burning. The machete was lodged into the floor, and he tugged to free it, but it wouldn't budge. Instead, he slumped back down to the ground and stared at the tank still holding his brother's head. He felt nothing. He thought there would at least be some sort of satisfaction, but there was just a gaping hole. He lost his brother. He might have lost his kids. He could still lose Rick. All of this loss and nothing… nothing would bring it back.

Then he heard a shuffling, and he managed to sit up, blinking against his tears. There was another door. Scraping together whatever strength he had left, Daryl shuffled to his feet and limped to the door. The wound in his side was aching horribly, but he'd had worse. Still needed to get treated once he got the chance.

Holding the machete tightly, Daryl reached for the door. He yanked it open suddenly, only to stop dead.

A little girl. A girl with a bag over her head and chained to the wall. She stiffened for a second, then wandered over in Daryl's direction until the chain stopped her short.

“Oh, sweetie,” Daryl breathed, his eyes filling with tears. This poor girl… He had to save her. The machete dropped to the ground, and the girl flinched, pulling against her chain.

“It's okay,” Daryl soothed, dropping down to his knees. He knew he looked scary, being drenched in blood, the poor child had to be so scared. All the gunshots and the horrors just outside this room, and what she had to suffer through in the hands of that horrible man…!

He shuffled closer, his heart melting as she stretched out her arms to him. “There ya go, lemme help ya,” he murmured, finally getting to her. The room smelled absolutely filthy, like a rotting carcass. How long was she forced to live here, chained up? 

He wrapped his bloodied arms around her and gave her a soft squeeze, the only source of comfort he could possibly give, but then he froze.

Her body was ice cold. He could hear a crunch under his grasp, like he had stepped in a pile of leaves. And the smell that drifted off her body… the smell of death.

Her tiny hands tried to scratch into his skin, but she was just too little to do anything but tug at his shirt. He even felt her attempts to bite at him, but the bag was too thick. She let out rapid whines and growls, as what was holding her was nothing more than food.

Daryl sat there and held her, though. He didn't know why. He just stared at the floor and felt the child try to feast on him and tear into him with her tiny fingers. And all he could think of was Carl and Ellie.

His children, so vulnerable to the world, and could now be nothing more than walkers themselves. Lingering between alive or dead, shells of the children he would die to protect.

Tears dripped down his cheeks the entire time he held her, like if he gave her his warmth that she would return to an innocent child who died too soon. He ran his hand up and down her back, even as he felt more and more give.

“It's okay, sweetie,” Daryl murmured to her, as he pulled out of her grasp. He bypassed his machete and instead reached for his discarded knife, and wiped off the blood onto the carpet. Make it clean. Don't let her suffer. She's just a little girl.

He pulled his arms around her one last time and let a sob escape. Please, someone. If they found his babies… Please make it quick. They're just kids. Don't make them suffer.

His hand trembled momentarily with the knife, before he pressed it to the back of her skull still covered by the bag. One swift stab, and she fell limp.

He carefully slid out the blade and walked out of the room, leaving the door open. Needed to make it quick. He grabbed at the aquarium that held his brother's head and tipped it over, letting the stained water and head fall to the ground. Daryl didn't let himself look for more than a second before he put the knife into his skull as well.

“Her name's Ellie,” Daryl whispered, talking as he gathered the bag Merle had died to gather. Reaching deep inside, he grabbed a lighter and the bottle of vodka for wounds. “She was a month old. Maybe a month and a week.”

Daryl unscrewed the cap of the alcohol and started to splash it across the room. “She was gonna be my lil’ asskicker.” His voice was stale and monotone, and he moved without thought. He splashed a little into the girl's room, then onto the bodies scattered on the floor.

He picked up the bag and lugged it over his shoulders, then grabbed his machete, and Rick's gun. Taking out the lighter, Daryl stared at the bullet wound on his side. He had time. He ran the blade of Rick's machete against the carpet until most of the blood came off, then brought the lighter to the metal. Once he held the flame there for a few seconds, he dropped the lighter and hiked up his shirt, biting into it to keep it from dropping, and to keep himself silent.

The hot metal pressing against his wound brought so much pain that it left him dizzy, having to do it to both sides, but he did it. On to the important part before he got distracted. Sweat was dripping off his forehead as he focused back onto the lighter and his shaking hand managed to scoop it up. One by one, he brought the flame to the bodies, and watched each light up slow. Burn it all.

“You were gonna meet her. Maybe you're with her now,” he breathed as he left the room, splashing the alcohol across the dark room. He lit the curtains on fire first, then the chairs. Smoke was already starting to collect on the ceiling, but Daryl did not rush as he collected his bag from beneath the chair.

Instead he flicked on the light just to see the trails of Dixon blood all across the floor, then tossed the alcohol bottle into the center. He blindly grabbed at a book sitting on a countertop and tore out some pages, lighting them carefully. Then he dropped them down into the leading trail of alcohol, and watched the bluish orange flames start to spread.

“We were gonna start over,” he told empty air as he walked down the stairs, randomly dragging the lighter against anything he could find. He made sure to light any other bodies he saw, not to burn evidence, but just to burn it from his mind. Burn it all away.

He didn't stop the fires until he got outside the walls, and then he shoved the lighter into his pocket. He followed the marks again, still stained with their blood from their first escape. It was silent in the forest, like the walkers even knew to keep their distance from the blood soaked man talking to nothing.

Only once he made it back to the cabin did he grow quiet, and he tossed the bags onto the table. Almost immediately, Merle's bag spilled out with their possession. His crossbow. Bolts. And as he dug deeper, he pulled out the vest. The vest his brother had given him all those years ago. Put it on his skinny shoulders before he left to war.

But he didn't have time to think. To feel. He had felt enough, and welcomed the hollowness inside him.

Daryl set down the vest and walked to the couch, where Rick was still asleep. In quiet, careful movements, Daryl slid himself beneath Rick's head and placed him back onto his lap, as if he had never left.

The blood soaked man stared blankly at the door, and waited. He waited to wake up from this nightmare and for his brother to walk through that door again.

But he never did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question to all those reading! Would you like a separate fic detailing the start of the apocalypse and filling in the holes of season 1 and 2? Or do you like these types of hidden memories? Let me know!
> 
> Also yes I know I'm heartless.


	8. Left Behind, Left Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey home has begun, but Daryl isn't telling Rick anything. The blood soaked clothing, their weapons, his injury, everything was met with silence. And then he finds out why.

There was something wrong.

Rick stared across the cabin, to the man hunched over the table. Weapons were spread across the surface, guns, bolts and knives. His own Colt Python was held in Rick's grasp, tapping his finger against the trigger. When he asked how Daryl got the gun back, he said nothing.

Daryl always said nothing.

He hadn't said anything from the last memory he could scrape together, being in and out of consciousness on the couch. He heard Daryl's voice, and another, but it was too foggy. Then he awoke to his head on Daryl's blood soaked lap, streaks of blood across wherever Daryl had touched him.

His questions were given no answers. All he was met with was silence. Like Daryl wasn't even there. Just a moving, breathing shell.

Rick glanced down to his leg, at the neat stitches of his barely healing stab. They had been in this cabin for days, now, almost a week, and the silence was well on its way to driving him mad. When Rick had seen the bullet wound on Daryl's side, he was answered in silence. The cuts on his hand, more silence. The emptiness in his stare, the refusal to sleep, the unwillingness to leave, all silence.

It was just like back in those darker days. When Daryl's past would catch up and shut him down. But never like this. Never this long. It left Rick at a loss for options.

Rick couldn't make Daryl talk. Demanding would only shut him down further. What they needed to do was go home, to make sure everyone was safe. They hadn't given up the location of the prison, after all. Everyone was going to be worried sick, and the longer they were away, the more likely they would search, and they could find themselves captured by the same people.

Plus, they needed to get the formula back. Ellie barely had any powdered formula when they left, how would they keep her fed without it? She could be starving.

It was why Rick was done waiting for answers. He shoved himself up to his feet, even as pain raked through his leg and almost caused him to stumble. Daryl had been sure to keep Rick either on the couch or in bed, and the only way he could get Daryl to make a sound was when he was caught trying to stretch out his leg and would get literally growled at.

“We're leaving,” Rick said, watching Daryl flinch at the sound of his voice. “We need to get back to the prison before they go looking too far. Need to get Ellie's formula.”

Daryl's fingers clenched into the table, scratching his nails into the wood. He did not speak, because Rick didn't expect him to. All he did was dip his head down, refusing to look back at him.

Leaning against the couch to keep himself steady, Rick limped himself to the table until he was standing right beside Daryl. The other man was still staring down at the weapons, never once meeting his eyes. “We need to get away from this. Back home,” Rick pressed, his gaze steady as he watched Daryl for any reaction.

He reached out and rested his left forearm against Daryl's shoulder and tried to ignore the man's flinch. “Back to Carl. Ellie. Make sure everyone's safe.”

Daryl bit down onto his bottom lip, the only sign that he was listening to Rick at all. He only stared down at the weapons that Rick still had no idea how Daryl retrieved them. 

He did have a few guesses, and they all linked back to the blood. Daryl had not washed himself in any way other than his hands so that he could not infect Rick's wounds. It had dried and cracked across his skin, across his face and arms. His clothing was still coated, since he refused to change clothes, too.

Clenching his grip around the Python, Rick rested it onto the table. “We can put this behind us. Let's go home,” Rick murmured, letting his arm rub across Daryl's back in any way he could think of to help soothe him. When that didn't work, he tucked his arm around Daryl's waist and pulled him closer.

“Look at me,” he said, reaching with his single hand to press against Daryl's cheek, coaxing his head up. When he finally got Daryl to meet his eyes, he had to hold back a shiver. Empty. Like Daryl was staring right through him. “We're going to be okay. We're together. We're safe. I'm right here.”

Daryl held his gaze for the longest time, until he was given the smallest of nods. At least Rick could still get through to him, even if it was just barely. 

Tightening his arm, he pulled Daryl against his chest and tucked his head into Rick's neck. “I'm right here,” he repeated, trying to not let his heart sink when Daryl didn't move to hold him back. They were both hurt, Rick physically and Daryl mentally. While Rick was healing, Daryl needed to let himself do the same.

Pressing his lips to Daryl's temple, Rick murmured softly, “Let's go home.”

* * *

The only sound was the crackle of a lit fireplace, illuminating the abandoned cabin. The people who use to live in it was not as lucky as the hermit, if judging by the self inflicted gunshot wounds and the note. Neither cared to read what it had to say and the bodies were dumped outside to feed the walkers.

They had been following the two all throughout the night, trailing after the smell of blood and Rick's occasional grunts of pain. At times they would stop to make quick work of their tails, but it never lasted long. At least they broke the heavy silence, even if only by groans and uncoordinated shambling.

Now it was back to near silence. Rick watched out of the corner of his eye as Daryl paced the cabin, checking through the blinds and rummaging through drawers. By the time he returned to Rick's side, he must have walked the entire cabin three or four times.

Daryl held out his hand to help Rick get to his feet, but offered no words. Just that same blank stare. Rick had already accepted that whatever state Daryl had put himself into was not going to be broken as long as they were away from home. It was his only method of survival, escaping his pain.

The last time he had seen an episode like this was when he found the group for the first time back at the quarry, but Daryl was at least talking. Not much, but it was something. He'd had the mental burden of the pregnancy and Rick's potential death back then, but still functioned if just for Carl.

Grasping Daryl's hand, Rick dragged himself up to his feet, though immediately gasped in pain. His leg had started bleeding during the walk, and he'd had to use Daryl like a crutch the entire time. He shouldn't be on his feet at all, but there was no other choice.

Rick pulled his arm around Daryl's shoulder just like before and let Daryl lead him across the cabin to the bedroom. He had nearly melted into the sheets as soon as Daryl released him, his eyes fluttering closed. Just a quick rest. They would keep moving tomorrow. Rick just wished he knew how far they had to walk because Daryl definitely wasn't telling him.

Opening up one eye, Rick saw Daryl linger in the room, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. The deep blue eyes were flicking across the room, never once looking back at Rick or the bed.

“It's safe here,” Rick said, pulling himself up to lay down properly on the bed. His hand tapped the spot right beside him. “You need to rest, unless you  _ really  _ want me to try to find the way back on my own?”

Rick tried to pull up a smile, but Daryl's lips didn't even twitch. Was he even listening? Was Daryl even  _ there _ at all? Running his hand across the sheets, Rick pulled them back. “Lay down with me.”

A rock sank to the bottom of his stomach as Daryl laid down without a struggle, and Rick knew that whatever was happening in Daryl's mind was getting worse. Daryl was naturally headstrong and would often consider his plan the only plan. Following orders was not his strong suit unless he agreed with them first.

Now Daryl was just… doing it. A slave to his words and his orders. Not within his own mind or thoughts. Submissive to a fault.

Rick's mind reeled back to what he heard on the other side of that wall, when that man took his turn at torturing information out of Daryl. From what he could see on Daryl's body, it wasn't by cuts or damaging his body. That just meant the damage was where Rick could not see. Where no one could see but Daryl.

Rick ran his hand across the bed slowly, enough to make a noise, before tucking it around Daryl's waist. He waited, and when there was no response, pulled Daryl to his chest. All Daryl did was roll onto his side, his back facing Rick, and push his head into the dusty pillow.

Tucking his left arm around Daryl's waist, Rick thought. He thought back to all the times that Daryl would shut down on him, and what he had done. The first time they had sex, Rick just held him just like now and let Daryl have a moment to process his emotions, something he doubted Daryl ever had before. He'd been scared and still struggled with his sexuality, with sex being the final barrier.

Then he thought of when Daryl's father found out about Rick and their relationship, after hiding it for a solid year. Rick's father had been called out to the Dixon property, only to call Rick down to the hospital to stay with Daryl. He'd stayed beside him then, too. Through his broken bones and the pressing questions by the police. Always holding his hand. Just being there.

He'd shut down after Carl was born, too. Not just because of the postpartum depression. Carl had been born at 29 weeks, much too early and too tiny. Rick couldn't remember the technical terms, but the placenta had been in the wrong place, and Daryl started to bleed. They had been in and out of the hospital for two months before something had gone wrong, leading to uncontrollable bleeding and an emergency c-section.

Daryl had it firmly in his head that he had failed, that Carl will die, it was all his fault, and Rick would hate him because of it. That had to be the only time Rick could think of that he had seen Daryl so shut down that Rick feared he could lose him. That entire time, he had felt helpless, trying to balance staying with Daryl and wanting to be there for his son at the same time.

Squeezing Daryl's waist, he let his hand run across Daryl's stomach, only just starting to return to his normal body. But Daryl still hated it for the excess skin and fat and the stretch marks. Hated the scars on his body no matter where they came from.

Daryl just… hated himself. And that hurt more than any wound that could be inflicted upon Rick.

“I love you,” Rick murmured, pulling Daryl up to his chest until they were flush against each other. “I'll always love you, no matter what happens.”

He was once again answered with silence, not even a twitch running through Daryl's body. Rick paused for a moment, then closed his eyes.

“I'll be right here, right beside you.” Rick pressed his lips to Daryl's shoulder, letting his hand roam across Daryl's body. He slid his hand beneath Daryl's shirt and skimmed across the c-section scar. “Always here.”

Rick paused, his thumb still running across the scar, before he slipped his arms away. He carefully sat himself up in the bed before he shrugged his way out of his shirt, something he still fumbled with having only one hand. Tossing it off the side of the bed, the next thing that came off was his belt, then his boots, his socks, his pants, everything until he was bare. Glancing back over his shoulder, he met Daryl's hesitant gaze.

“C'mon,” he coaxed, reaching out and helping to pull Daryl into a sitting position. Daryl said nothing, and that was okay. It was time to be vulnerable

Rick started with his boots, untying the laces that were all the way up his ankles and coaxing them off. And he spoke with each article of clothing Rick removed. Words he knew he said hundreds of times before, but knew that Daryl needed to hear them again. 

“I love your eyes,” he said as the boot fell to the floor. “I love your voice.” The other boot joined its twin. “I love your strong arms, and your strength.” Two socks. Adjusting himself on the bed, he sat himself down onto Daryl's legs, if just to stay close. Their eyes met, and Rick didn't look away.

Even as Rick sat naked on Daryl's lap, he felt no sexual excitement. That wasn't what Rick wanted and it wasn't what Daryl needed. He needed a different kind of intimacy.

“I love your determination,” Rick said as he slid off the black vest, then started on the buttons of his still bloody shirt. “I love your gentleness.” The shirt slipped off the side of the bed, and Daryl did not move to cover himself back up. Instead, his eyes never strayed away from Rick's. Rick took a moment to let his hand run down Daryl's shoulders and arms, touching the bare skin.

Then he came to Daryl's sides, and his hand almost ran across the bandages, the bullet wound that Daryl would not explain, and the burns that surrounded it. He skimmed his fingers across Daryl's chest, where Rick could feel his breath shiver and tremble. He was still taking his time with every touch, in no rush, and let the words continue on. 

“I love how you protect your family and the people you love. I love how you raised Carl with me, and how we'll raise Ellie. I love your smile when you think no one's looking.”

The words continued spilling as Rick shifted himself off of Daryl's lap to sit beside him, then started on his belt. Words about how much he loved their life together, that they were still together after everything they've gone through.

As he slipped Daryl's pants off of his body, Rick kept looking into Daryl's eyes. Even as he felt the grooves of scars on his thighs. It all took so much time with only one hand, but it didn't ever slow Rick's words. Just more time to tell Daryl everything.

And he watched the silent tears roll down Daryl's cheeks, as Rick stripped him of everything but what matters; himself. The only people allowed to see them at their most vulnerable were each other.

Rick laid Daryl back down into the bed. He curled beneath the blankets and tucked Daryl to his chest, letting their naked bodies find each other. This time, when Rick wrapped his arms around Daryl, his husband tucked his head beneath his chin and clung to him. Rick's hand and arm roamed his body, his lips pressed to the top of Daryl's head and still murmuring those words.

He felt the tears drip onto his chest and neck, but Daryl was still silent. That was okay, though, as long as he knew that Rick would always be right beside him.

* * *

It took three days of walking, stopping to rest on occasion. Rick was still in near constant pain, having to lean more and more into Daryl, but they kept moving. Daryl still had yet to say a word, but he seemed clearer. Like whatever fog had taken over his mind had been put at ease, for now. Rick would not be fooled into thinking everything was solved.

Then Rick saw the river, the one that bordered the prison, and all those worries managed to be pushed to the back of his mind. Home. They were  _ home.  _ All of this worry and aching was finally going to end, because no one had followed them. They were still safe another day.

He pulled against Daryl's hold, and even when Daryl's hand knotted into his shirt, he pulled harder. Carl must be so worried. Ellie would be hungry, but he knew they had evaporated milk on hand. It would have to do until they get the formula back. And then the others… Carol would hug Daryl and never let go. They'd be greeted with questions, but also with relief.

Everyone...

And soon they were down that path, the path that he and Daryl took and got their first look at the prison. He couldn't see through the trees, but Daryl wasn't going fast enough! Wrenching himself out of Daryl's grip, he rushed down the path, even as he limped horribly. Just a few more steps and they would be home. Back with their group, with their  _ kids,  _ their family, and…!

Rick burst through the brush, then stumbled to a stop. He could swear that his heart had done the same, paralyzed in his chest with the rest of his body.

No.

_ No,  _ it wasn't… It  _ couldn't… _

But it was.

It was gone.

The walls were crumbled and collapsed down in front, and even from where he stood, he knew exactly where their block had been. In the rubble.

Watch towers were brought down and now laid crumbled across the grass, their vehicles were all scorched like they had been set on fire, and the same black marks stretched across the stone walls still standing.

Rick's knees hit the ground, but the pain that spiked up his leg was barely given a thought. Instead, his mind spun with any reason to why this wasn't true. They hadn't said a word, never gave away the prison. Not when they had been imprisoned. They had promised each other they wouldn't tell.

There was no possible way they could have found the prison…!

For the longest time, all Rick could do was stare. No, there had to be someone. They couldn't… They couldn't all be gone.

Rick didn't know how he managed to climb the fence with his bad leg, maybe he didn't feel the physical pain against the anguish ripping him apart from the inside out. He stumbled across the grass, running, sprinting, whatever he could, even as he tripped over the dead walkers that littered the field.

Please, someone be there. Anyone. They couldn't lose their family. Even if just… one of their babies survived.  _ Someone! _

He slammed through the partially open front door, and scrambled to the cell block. Everything that wasn't the path ahead was a blur, even as the walls had gaping holes in them. Other walls were riddled with bullet holes. Then once he came to the cafeteria, he once again ground to a stop.

Rick saw Beth first, standing in the middle of the room. But before he could even shout her name, her body turned, and exposed the half a dozen bullet wounds scattered into her chest, her torn shirt drenched in blood, and her lifeless eyes.

Then there was a tug on his ankle, where Hershel had grabbed him and was trying to pull himself closer, unable to stand on the single leg. His fingers were bloody from the constant dragging, and there were just as many bullet wounds. But all their blood was dried. They had been dead for days. Maybe even a week. Already starting to rot.

When Rick couldn't move away, a bolt was instead shot into Hershel's skull, and the fingers slacked. One more bolt seconds later dropped Beth to the ground. Daryl pulled both of the bolts free as Rick could only stare at them, at the broken room, at the bullet holes, and at the blood.

Then he saw the plastic bottle on the ground, the milk inside far past soured.

“Carl! Ellie!” Rick suddenly shouted, his voice echoing the stone room. He couldn't sit there and stare at the bodies, couldn't give himself a moment to think about their last moments. Because then all he would think about would be wondering what Carl's were. What he was thinking as his life slipped away.

No one answered him, and Rick forced his leaden legs to move. He stumbled across the near empty room and pushed open the cell door, and saw nothing. “Carl!” he shouted again, even when he knew he was shouting at nothing but empty air.

But he still looked in each cell, each empty, ransacked cell. Searching for people to kill. Carl's was empty. The hat was gone. There was no sign of blood. He had not been in the cell during the attack. 

Then he came to the last one, to Daryl's cell. The sheets had been ripped down, and left the room as exposed as Rick's heart. There was… Nothing. No one was inside.

“...He already knew.”

The deep, rough voice that spoke for the first time in days spoke just behind him, and Rick couldn't even turn his head. He just walked to the cell and pushed the door open, like his children were just hiding.

Reaching out, Rick's shaking hand picked up a baby blanket. It was Carl's old blanket they found back at the house. They had taken Carl home with him all bundled up inside. Then it was passed down to Ellie. And now it sat alone, in an abandoned makeshift crib, toys still waiting to be held and played with by a baby that wasn't here anymore.

But there was no blood. No body. They wouldn't… take them. Would they? Or was there no body because… Because they escaped. But just as hope rose in his chest, it gave way to bitter agony.

Rick's hands clenched into the blanket as tears dripped down and stained the fabric. “No…” he let out in a deep guttural groan, falling to his knees. He started ravaging through the toys, the blankets, trying to find a sign. If they covered up the blood. The bodies. “Oh, no…!”

The pieces were falling into place in his head, no matter how much he wanted to change the outcome they led to. The others were the ones that fought their captors. They never came back home. It left Hershel, Beth, Carl and Ellie alone. Then came the attack. Then came the escape. Then…

Then came the realization that their children being killed in cold blood would have been a mercy. Instead…

His almost eleven year old son and his month and a half old baby sister had wandered the forest. Alone. Lost. Scared. Confused. And easy prey for whatever would find them.

His children died because they weren't here to protect them. And as he felt Daryl collapse to his knees beside him, he knew they had both failed.

Their children were dead, and they were alone, left alive to suffer their loss as punishment.


	9. What We Have Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Daryl have each other and only each other. It's time to go back home.

The mornings were the hardest parts of the day. Every morning, Rick opened his eyes and he saw the makeshift crib still sitting a couple feet away from their bed. Every morning, there was that small sliver of a daydream that Ellie would be tucked in her blankets, asleep, and everything was a bad dream.

But it was empty. Always empty.

The day stretched on after that, each man waiting for the other to wake up before even considering leaving the bed. Everything they did, they were side by side, because… all they had left was each other. They ate together, they showered together, they buried their dead together, and they searched together. 

Each day they went a little farther and a different direction, and each day they brought scraps of fabric and torn sheets. In whatever direction they went, they tied the strips of fabric to the trees to mark their progress and how deep into the woods they came.

It also was a path to lead whoever may still be alive back home. Always redirecting back to the prison, in case someone stumbled across the trail. No one ever did, though.

When night fell, the two men would come back to the prison and sit in front of the graves. Daryl had tied together some crosses made from sticks and shoelaces. Two for Hershel and Beth, then three more. One small, one medium, one large.

The smallest was decorated with the first piece of baby clothing Daryl had ever taken for their daughter. The middle had a chocolate bar they found in their stashes, and Daryl nailed one of their family pictures to the makeshift grave. The last, Daryl put out a bottle of bourbon. When Rick just stared at him, Daryl laughed. A hollow, wrenched laugh that brought no happiness and only pain.

Rick didn't ask who the last one was for, he didn't want to know. He could barely process his own grief.

They sat there now, on the twentieth day since their world came crashing down. Twenty mornings of the empty cribs, twenty trails of fabric, and twenty nights with the graves. Their tiny campfire helped to keep their bodies warm, though nothing could cure the emptiness inside.

They were no longer living. Just surviving.

Rick stared into the fire, the small flames licking at the darkness that still surrounded them. There was the chirping of crickets and he could even hear the river not far away. But he couldn't hear his children. What if he forgot Carl's voice? Ellie's face? How long until he forgets how his laugh sounded, or calling to him? Calling him Dad? His eyes stung, but he had ran out of tears days ago.

Glancing to his side, he watched Daryl take a long drag of the rare cigarette between his lips, then hold it out to Rick. Daryl had quit smoking when he realized he had been pregnant with Ellie, wouldn't take a sip of alcohol, but now there was no reason not to. The bottle sitting between them was half gone, only taking the bare minimum needed to make sleep easier. They only had this last bottle.

He took the cigarette and stared at the glowing tip, then the cloud of smoke Daryl released. Rick didn't care much for smoking. Never did. But now was a good a time as any.

As he took in a deep breath through the cigarette, he let the burn fill his lungs, then let it out again in a puff. The cigarette was almost gone. They'd share only the one tonight, Daryl's pack was almost gone. After that, no more. No more alcohol, no more nicotine to numb themselves.

Rick coughed once, still not quite use to the burn. It broke the silence and Daryl turned to look back at him. There was a hint of a smirk, but it fell as soon as it came.

Daryl was taking it harder than Rick, if that was possible. He had told Rick, in not so many words, that they didn't have a chance. That their group back at the prison had been attacked while they were still finding an escape. Rick didn't know how Daryl knew all of this, but the still healing bullet wound in his side helped paint a bloody picture.

Tapping off the cigarette ash and handing it back to Daryl, Rick cleared his throat. It was that time of the night. Every night, they tried to fill in the silence and distract themselves. They couldn't let themselves get sucked into the depression. That's when those… thoughts started poking through.

“Carl's third birthday party.”

Daryl snorted suddenly, ducking his head down with quivering shoulders. “Y'dropped the cake,” Daryl rasped as the smirk tugged back onto his face. “Carl fuckin’ bawled his eyes out. Had ‘ta go to Dairy Queen while I let ‘em get into his presents. All they had was pink.”

Rick smiled softly, the memories coming back. They had a dinosaur cake made for Carl, and he knew they took a picture of it before the unfortunate accident. To his defence, the cake had just been too heavy and he felt the cardboard beginning to give way. He tried to make it to the table, but it was no use. “Then all he wanted was ice cream cake. Regular cake wasn't good enough anymore.”

The hunter nodded, the smirk widening. Yet he still wiped his thumb across his eyes, chasing away the tears. “Uh… Carl's first Halloween.”

“As a baby or goin’ out to trick or treat?”

“Trick or treating.”

“He went as…” Rick paused and squinted into the fire, like the image would suddenly leap from the flames. “Spiderman. And he got into his candy after we went to bed and puked so much, you thought someone poisoned his candy.”

Daryl immediately flushed and pushed against Rick's shoulder. “I ain't trusting those dicks across the street, they chained their rottweiler up front to scare away the kids!”

“You went through his candy every single year and never found anything.”

“You didn't lock up the damn candy after I  _ told  _ you he'd get into it.”

Rick huffed out a laugh. Ever since that day, every Halloween was followed by locking the rest of the candy in a cabinet out of Carl's tiny reach. “I still have no idea how he never caught on that you were eating it,” Rick chuckled. “You were the one that had the key.”

The hunter just grumbled under his breath, staring down at the ground. “Baby's first Halloween.”

“Batman. He puked all over himself two minutes after you got him in it.”

“Damn right he did.”

Rick let a few chuckles escape, and he felt a little less hollow. If just because Daryl was still beside him. Shifting on the grass, Rick moved away the bottle and pressed his side to Daryl's. He reached out and took Daryl's empty hand with his own and gave it a squeeze. He turned it as subtly as he could and checked the still-healing cigarette burns on the back of his hand. No new ones. Good.

“Ah… First day of school,” Rick prompted, watching Daryl's expression. 

“Y'mean when you cried like a pussy or when Carl cried because he had to go back the next day?”

Rick elbowed Daryl's side softly. “I saw your snifflin’, don't lie to me. Kept pacing the house like the school would call and say Carl got hit by the bus.”

Daryl scoffed, and then it was back to silence. The fun memories were over, Rick guessed. Because whatever shred of happiness that Daryl felt was masked back over, and he stared to the five crosses once more. Rick could see it in his eyes, how they turned blank. Nothing else existed but those crosses. 

Sliding his hand out of Daryl's for just a moment, Rick grabbed the bottle and shifted it to Daryl's side. His husband didn't look up, but still took the offering. He drank just a gulp then paused. There was something he wanted to say.

Daryl rolled the neck of the bottle of booze between his thumb and finger and stared back into the fire. 

They were still taking it day by day. Maybe that's all they could do now.

“Wanna go home.”

Daryl's voice crackled like the burning wood, and Rick couldn't meet his eyes. He could still see the soft sheen that Daryl tried so hard to hide from him. The hunter took a few gulps of the alcohol then set the bottle down. He turned silent once more.

“Will we come back?” Rick carefully asked, not quite sure what Daryl was intending. Was he giving up? Had he already given up? Probably.

Rick knew his son was smart, and Daryl had taught him a thing or two about the wilderness, but the world would not be kind to a lone eleven year old boy and a nearly two month old baby. If anything, Rick hoped it was quick. Save them the suffering. Maybe they only stayed to cling onto memories, not for hope, only to torture themselves more.

Daryl shrugged, ducking his head back down. Rick instead stared past the fire, to the crosses that sat before them. He tried to think of what Carl would want. If he'd want them to stay and search or… move on.

Rick's memories took the uncomfortable turn back to when Carl had been shot. When he felt his son bleeding out against his chest as he ran for what felt like miles. Daryl had been right beside him, trying to keep their son awake, then Rick told him to run ahead. To go get help. That he was only slowing Daryl down.

The fear in his husband's eyes was something Rick never wanted to see again. That if he dared to separate, his son may die without him. But he did, and he ran, and those precious extra seconds could have saved Carl's life.

But now there was no way to save Carl. No race against time, no do or die decisions. Just a simple choice of letting it hold them here or to continue on.

Rick already knew the answer no matter how much it hurt.

Tucking his arm around Daryl's back, Rick pulled him into his side and kissed his temple. He felt Daryl tuck his head into the crook of his neck, if just to hide himself from the crosses. From the permanent reminders.

“Let's go home.”

* * *

The next morning had been just as cruel as the others, but for a different reason. It was filled with packing as many bags as they could with provisions. They found one of their cars that still worked, even if it looked like it had been through the seven levels of hell. They piled each bag inside, just like a month ago.

There was no happiness in this trip, though. No excitement to see their home. But maybe by habit, Daryl still threw in the diaper bag filled with baby supplies. Maybe he knew, maybe he didn't, but Rick wouldn't complain. But as they filled the car, they took one more walk to the graves. 

They sat before them, falling back into familiar silence, and said wordless goodbyes. Daryl laid a Cherokee rose on their children's graves, and Rick took the baby blanket that had held both of them as infants and newborns.

He carefully cut two strips off the edge and Daryl tied them to the crosses, then they cut two pieces off. One for Rick, and one for Daryl. Pieces to stay with them, no matter what. Daryl tucked his inside his vest, and Rick put his in his pocket. He would find a better home for it later. Right now, all he could think about was going home.

As Daryl climbed onto his bike and Rick opened the driver's side of the car, he looked back to the prison. He stared at the door, at the piles of canned goods, blankets and water, and at the writing.

_ CARL & ELLIE - COME HOME _

_ EVERYONE - BE SAFE _

It was short, and it was all Rick could think of. It was too much like Sophia. Too much like they were abandoning their children to a fate worse than death. But it was either stay here and die in their grief, or move on.

Taking in one last breath, Rick said a soft goodbye under his breath, and stepped into the car. The engine roared to life, and they left the prison in the same as themselves; broken and empty.

Rick almost constantly looked in the rear view mirror to Daryl driving behind. Like if he looked away, he would lose him as easily as everyone else. Daryl drove close, sometimes side by side, but Rick always led ahead. He was the one that knew the way.

But as soon as they passed that sign welcoming them into King County, Daryl picked up speed. It left Rick to stare at the winged leather jacket occasionally becoming smaller until Rick would catch back up. Rick glanced down to the fuel gauge. Only a fifth of the tank was left. They would have enough to come home, but that may be it.

Fitting, in a way. They'd be forced to stay with their memories in their hollow, stripped house.

Daryl drove ahead, weaving between cars with ease, while Rick had to sometimes go through lawns. He counted three dead bodies he ran over, glancing into the mirror at the black stain left behind. He had been so distracted that he almost rear ended Daryl when he came to a sudden stop.

Slamming on his breaks, Rick cursed. They were only a few houses away. Their front door was  _ right there.  _ What would make Daryl stop? Unbuckling himself, Rick opened the door then grabbed his gun, just in case. Though as soon as Rick stepped out, a bullet went through the windshield and shattered it.

“Shit!” Rick hissed, ducking down and rushing to a nearby picket fence. Daryl followed just as quick, but Rick winced as he heard the bang of a rifle and the bullet sinking into the dirt just inches away from Daryl. His partner grabbed at his shirt and tugged, and they scrambled for better cover.

Keeping themselves ducked down, Rick and Daryl ran alongside the fence before they came to their neighbors shed. It had to do. They took shelter inside, and for a few moments, there was silence.

“Saw the rifle out Carl's window,” Daryl breathed, staring up at their home. They were now right beside the house, but they would have to cross the lawn. Carl's room faced out into the front yard and the street, but that didn't mean there would not be surveillance to the back.

Sparks of rage pricked through Rick at the thought of their house being taken by bandits. Of all the houses, of all the towns, they picked theirs. Maybe they knew it was Rick's, the sheriff's deputy. Maybe they assumed there would still be weapons left behind. But all Rick could think about were the bandits tearing apart whatever memories they had left in that house. There was someone in Carl's room  _ right now. _

His hand tightened on his gun before he met Daryl's eyes. One look was enough to know that Daryl was just as pissed as he was. They didn't come all this way to be picked off feet from their house. No, they were going to fight.

“Back door key,” Rick breathed, glancing through the slits of the aging shed.

“Flower pot,” Daryl murmured back. “Clear first floor, then corner Carl's room.”

Nodding, Rick took in a deep breath to steady himself. He turned back to Daryl to see a knife in his hands. The crossbow was still strapped down onto the bike. He would have to take the lead, but he needed more backup than a knife. He turned to the rest of the shed and spotted an old wrench, and next to it was a piece of pipe. Daryl seemed to spot it at the same time and grabbed both pieces off the ground. He slid the wrench into Rick's belt loops, since his only hand was occupied, and kept the pipe piece for himself.

Now they were as armed as possible. Rick glanced through the slits again and to the windows. All the curtains were shut, but the intruder must have seen them run. They could be waiting at the door as they spoke.

With one glance shared between them, Rick led his partner out of the shed. Rick kept his eyes to the second floor window, where he saw one curtain shift back. Their bedroom window. Whoever was inside was tracking them, and they could be waiting right by the back door. Or, maybe they would come to the front when they think the back door was securely locked.

They crossed the lawn as quickly as possible, hyper aware to the gunfire that would rain down at any moment. Rick pressed his back to the wall as Daryl tipped back the flowerpot and snatched the key still hidden beneath. Honestly, it was the most obvious place for a key to be. The fact that it was still there was a miracle.

Daryl pocketed his knife as he went to the door, sliding in the key and swiftly unlocking it. They paused, met the others eyes, and shared a nod. Daryl stepped back and pressed his hand to the door, and pushed it open slow. When they didn't hear anything inside, he pushed it open just enough for Rick to get through.

Entering the house, Rick lifted his gun and aimed it down the dark kitchen. All the windows were boarded up tight  letting in only soft slivers of light. Cabinets were closed, the floor was clean, and no one was inside. Squinting against the darkness, he waited until he felt Daryl's shoulder touch his, now standing beside him.

They advanced slowly, mindful that any noise could alert their intruders of their location. There was no responding noise. Rick could feel his heart beat wildly against his ribs, and the blood rushed through his ears, yet he remained calm. The intruders had no idea who they were up against.

They walked to the doorway of the living room next, and out of the corner of his eye, Rick saw movement. It was swift, and in the darkness he had no idea what it was. All he could guess was that it came from the stairs. Raising his left arm, he pressed it to Daryl's chest to stop them. In that moment, Daryl turned and pressed his back to Rick's.

The silence was agonizing, Rick's senses straining to pick up any stimulus. There was someone here, at least one, and they weren't going to move until the intruder did. This was their home and they will stand their ground.

Then Daryl shoved his hand into Rick's back, pushing him forward a few feet and causing him to spin around. Thin light peeking through wooden skates caught on something metal, thin and sharp, but Daryl had already raised his pipe to block the blow. The metal clashed against metal, and Rick lifted his gun.

“On the ground!” Rick snarled, aiming the gun into the darkness, but Daryl was in the way. He was struggling with the sword that still was bearing down on him, and was winning inch by inch. He was trying to grab at his back pocket for his knife, but had to keep both hands on the pipe to block the blow.

Unable to take the shot without possibly hitting Daryl, Rick gritted his teeth together and dropped the gun, instead grabbing at his wrench. “Get down!” Rick shouted again, barreling forward into the sword-wielding intruder. He knocked his shoulder into their body and dropped back to avoid the sword that slashed at him in response. In the thin light, he saw dark eyes narrowed back at him, and the sheen of the sword-a katana.

If they were going to take down the intruder, they had to get the katana out of their hands. But that wasn't going to be easy, not as they slashed forward again. 

Rick parried the blow with his wrench in return, but with only one hand, it was weak and he had to duck out of the way as they followed through. Up close, he caught dark skin and a slender body. A woman. But she was no dainty damsel. She instead raised her arms one more time and swung the katana down to cut directly into his skull.

She would have succeeded had it not been for Daryl suddenly tackling her down to the ground, forcing her down onto her side and she swung wildly in any attempt to stab at him. But Rick thought quick and brought his boot down onto the blade right beside her hands, trapping it to the ground.

In seconds, Daryl had his knife to her throat and was trying to peel her hands from the katana handle that she still struggled to free. He managed to work one free and pull it tight around her back, and her face twisted with pain. Rick knew that Daryl wouldn't break it, though. That would be for later if they needed information.

With only one hand on the katana, Rick dropped the wrench and grabbed the handle, yanking it free. With her now disarmed, Rick pushed the katana aside and took his gun off the floor. In the low light, he could see her stiffen up under the sight of the gun, only to grit her teeth together and glare. She still had some fight. She was protecting something.

“Are you alone?” Rick rasped, kneeling down beside her and pressing the barrel of the gun to her head covered in dreadlocks. “Think careful. Or I'll have him pop your arm out of socket.”

On cue, Daryl pulled harder, and the woman hissed in pain. Yet she still held her tongue and glared back up at him. The corner of Rick's mouth twitched. She was protecting someone, yet there were no other attackers in sight. Could be someone who couldn't fight back. Someone she knew would be killed on sight.

Rick pulled back the hammer, and she stiffened at the sound of the click. “I'm gonna ask you again,” Rick started, his voice low. “Who's in this house-”

A bullet soared right past his head, snatching a few pieces of his hair with it. Jerking up his head, Rick stared at the dark form standing on the stairs. He held a gun in his grasp, the silencer still on. He was small, but Rick could make out the brim of a hat.

One with a golden star.

Rick's hand clenched on the gun, and for a moment, all he could do was stare. Then the boy spoke.

“Leave her alone!”

Daryl stiffened beside him, his body hard and rigid like it had turned to stone. They stared at the boy who held a gun pointed at their heads. At the blue eyes he got from his father, the dark hair from his mother. In the silence, Rick's fingers slacked and he dropped his gun, rattling on the tile floor. Slowly, ever so slowly, Rick stood up and watched the gun follow his head.

It felt like an eternity as he stood there in his own kitchen, staring past the barrel of the gun to the matching blue eyes that glared back. His mind tried to find some excuse to what he was looking at wasn't real, because there was no chance that it was. Yet there he stood. And it was then that he said a single word.

“Carl.”

The end of the gun flinched, before hesitantly dropping. His son walked down the stairs one by one, the gun still tight in his hand, until he jerked to a stop a few feet away. Then the gun fell out of his hand, too, joining the Colt Python, and Carl's eyes widened to the size of moons.

“Dad…!”

In a heartbeat, Carl was in his arms. Rick clung to him, to his warm, breathing, alive self. He barely heard Daryl repeat their son's name, before he, too, pulled their son into his arms. Their weapons were left forgotten on the ground, as nothing else mattered.

Carl was here. Their son was  _ alive. _ Somehow, someway, Carl had survived.

They could have stood there forever and let their tears fall, sharing words of love and apologies and whatever else spilled from their lips, but then Carl pulled against their grasp.

He started repeating a name, pulling at their arms and yanking them to the stairs. Within seconds, all three rushed up, with two unable to believe that what he said was true. There was no way. Carl, maybe. But  _ her? _

They barely contained themselves from bowling over the door to Carl's room, and with shaking hands, they pushed it open. And there was her crib, with their baby Ellie tucked into her blankets, somehow asleep.

Daryl scooped her up first, and at first she began to cry at her disturbed sleep. His sobs were muffled into her blankets, clinging to the baby he thought they had lost, and they repeated her name. Ellie.  _ Ellie. _

Carl and Ellie were here. And their family was finally home. 

* * *

“His name was the Governor, and he was the one that destroyed the prison.”

Daryl didn't look up from his daughter in his arms, nursing her with a bottle made from the formula Carl had managed to grab on their escape. Rick's arm tightened around Carl, holding him closer into his side.

They sat on the couch the living room and listened to the woman, to Michonne, as she sat on the chair. The only light was the flickering fireplace, as every window had been boarded up tight. Walkers, Carl said. It was safer and helped block out the noise when Ellie would cry.

Her dark eyes were still wary as she watched Daryl feed their daughter, but finally met Rick's eyes again. “They came when the others didn't come back. I knew they'd come. And they did. Destroyed the whole place. The old man tried to make peace, but it didn't work.”

Rick ran his hand along Carl's side, a silent support, but also to make sure that Carl was still there beside him. Like this was just a dream they would wake up from at any moment.

“Carl had a way out, some tunnel system. We took the baby and ran, and just kept running. It was Carl's idea to come here.”

“Damn smart one,” Daryl rumbled with praise, the smile on his face not fading for an instant. “All that camping did us good, didn't it?”

Carl just chuckled beside him, cheeks red from the unexpected praise. “It was the only place I knew was safe. That'd have stuff for Ellie. And I remembered where Dad drove, so we followed the path.”

“We've been here for a couple weeks. Carl said that if you two were still alive, you'd come here,” the woman added, leaning back into the chair.

Rick wasn't sure how to feel, if he should be proud that his son was so smart, or upset with himself for not leaving sooner. It honestly should have been the first thing they did, but instead they hoped Carl would just find his way back to the prison. It was hard to believe back then that Carl and Ellie would make the whole trip down to King County, but they did it.

“We would have been here sooner,” Rick sighed, glancing back down to his son and squeezing him to his side again. “We'd both taken a beating from the Governor, and I couldn't walk. Daryl almost had to carry me back to the prison.”

Daryl muttered softly at that, and curled his arms tighter around Ellie. Rick filled in the silence as best as he could. “Did you ever see the others?” Rick asked, but already felt his heart sink.

Michonne shook her head. “Probably already gone. You can see that the Governor doesn't leave things half done.”

“I don't either,” Daryl grunted, not taking his eyes off of his daughter. “Killed the bastard. He ain't gonna do anymore shit to us.”

As this was the first time that Daryl mentioned  _ anything  _ about when he went back to the town, Rick had to hold his tongue. This wasn't something to discuss right now. Not in front of Carl. And they needed to stay as far away from that subject as possible.

Shaking his head, Rick met Michonne's eyes again. “I can't say this enough, but thank you,” he said, his heart swelling in his chest. “You protected our kids. You didn't have to, but you did it anyway.”

The woman scoffed and looked away, but Rick could see her cheeks start to darken with embarrassment. “Ain't gonna leave the kids to starve,” she said, trying her best to ward off anymore discussion. “Carl held his own.”

“That's my boy,” Daryl praised again, glancing up momentarily to meet Carl's eyes, only for Carl to duck away. He was never use to Daryl saying much in terms of praise, so Rick could understand the sudden overwhelming that Daryl's words were thrust upon him. But Carl still smiled, and puffed his chest just a bit.

“I mean it. And it would be the least we could do to have you stay. If you want to,” Rick quickly added. At a glance, Michonne seemed like a lone wolf, if given how she separated herself from the reunited family across the room.

She tapped her fingers on the recliner, then shrugged. “I'm not leaving anytime soon,” she hummed, which was close enough to an acceptance for Rick to take.

They talked quietly around the fire, with Rick diverting the conversation whenever it came to questions about his injuries or what the Governor actually did. Judging by Michonne's experience, she knew far too much what he was capable and Carl didn't need to know. He also didn't need to know how close his parents were to completely falling apart.

By the time the sun had set, Rick, Daryl, Michonne and Carl had dragged in all the provisions the two had taken with. Their bodies now physically and emotionally drained, it was agreed to turn in for the night. That left Rick and Daryl to reclaim their bed, to which Michonne so ‘gently’ reminded them to keep their celebration down. But they both crashed into the mattress after wishing their children goodnight, relaxing into the bed they had shared for thirteen years.

They fell into each other's arms, curled into the warmth they shared, like they had so many times before. But tonight was different.

For the first time in weeks, there were no tears. There were no fire-lit vigils among the graves. There were no plaguing questions of what ifs or devastation at seeing an empty crib. They still had each other, and for the first time in weeks, they had more than that.

They had their family again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next arc will probably take a little bit to start up, it'll be the official start of midseason 4 all the way to Alexandria! There will be trials and tribulations ahead, but the family is together and will overcome it once more.


End file.
